Pound of Flesh
by SkySpade
Summary: When an attack leaves McGee comatose, the rest of the team scramble for answers. Now Gibbs wants his pound of flesh plus bonuses, and he's not stopping until he gets it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from the work on this site. No copyright infringement is intended and nothing is to be taken as fact.

**Caveat:** All negative opinions against, and offensive portrayals of, any and all government agencies and their employees are fictional, used for story entertainment purposes only. I hold our agencies in high regard.

**Pound of Flesh**

Saturday, a rare weekend off, and his gut starts aching sometime in the afternoon between the tenth and twelfth cups of coffee. Naturally, he dumps out a mug of dirty nails and switches to the bourbon instead. It burns a trail down his throat and only slightly manages to quell the lump sitting in his belly. Not enough to ignore, but enough to power through and hope the repetitive sanding of his latest project will break the rest.

Time passes as it always does – slowly and quickly all in the same moments. He's not sure what time it is – or, for the matter, if it is even still Saturday – when a _clomp, clomp, clomp _starts down the basement steps. Tobias Fornell. Gibbs throws him a curious glance as he finishes measuring a wood plank, marking a line where it needs to be cut before replacing the pencil behind his ear and turning on his heel to give his old friend his attention.

"You look like hell Tobias."

And he does, honestly. Scuffed dress boots and a wrinkled suit with the tie hanging loose, unknotted from the amount of times he probably kept pulling it from his neck. He's clean-shaven, at least, so that says something, even if Gibbs isn't exactly sure what. But even if the unfortunate hair that had marred the man's face before was still there, the black bags under his eyes would still shine for attention.

Still, Fornell's answering look manages to stem the smirk Gibbs almost brings free. His gut churns again, a renewed pain that almost rises bile.

"There's a case." A file is in his hand, clenched between a tight grip that whitens knuckles. "Murder attempt. Gunshot." Fornell raises a finger and presses it to his temple. "Right to the head."

"To the head?" Gibbs asks. "Surprised they didn't stay down." He's more than surprised though, because suddenly there's a flash of Kate on the ground of a dirty rooftop with a red circle in the middle of her forehead.

Fornell says, popping the vision like a balloon, "Bullet went around the skull."

Gibbs toasts the air with his bourbon, ignoring the gut churn again. "This case need an NCIS touch?"

"Not yours."

"Why not? We may be off call this weekend, but my team knows Rule 3 like the back of their hands. Balboa's team is good, but we're the best on the Eastern seaboard."

"Personal."

Gibbs stops cold, no longer able to ignore the ache in his infamous gut. "Which one?"

"Timothy McGee."

_No._

He could see Tony, maybe, because he got in enough trouble as is at work and Gibbs could only imagine what sort of mayhem the man indulged himself in on rare weekends off. But not Tim. Not the probie who's most serious medical issues included a dog maul here and a glass shard to the gut there.

Fornell must see something, because he jerks his head and deflates with a sigh. "There's no mistaking it Jethro. He's at Bethesda, comatose but no brain damage last I heard. Bruises here and there, plus an impressive shiner 'round his eye, but no broken bones."

"Okay." Gibbs nods. "Okay." He nods again and grits his teeth. "All right, my team processes the scene."

Fornell cuts a sharp, "_Jethro_," and takes a step forward, stopping him before he can really get started. "Listen, I get it, I do really, but this is an _FBI _case. McGee isn't military. We'll catch the son-of-a-bitch with everything we got, but I can't let you risk compromising–"

Gibbs hurls his empty mug at the wall over Fornell's shoulder. It shatters into a hundred pieces, but neither men flinch. "Don't give me that _bullshit_ Tobias, McGee is _mine _and we're sure as hell not letting anyone else work this."

The answering smirk is a surprise, but welcome as it accompanies, "Yeah, I figured you'd say that, which is why I contacted Vance before I got here and he's working the joint operations angle. _On the record_, FBI runs point and NCIS backs. _Off_, you do what you do, but you run _everything _through me." Fornell jabs a finger pointedly when he sees that look in Gibbs' eye. "I mean it Jethro, you and your team run rogue on me and I'll pull you so fast you'll wish _you_ were the comatose one."

That's not saying much though, since Gibbs already wishes it.

Anybody but one of his.

"Where?"

"Alley between a coffee shop and pharmacy." Fornell hands over the case file, which Gibbs snatches and opens greedily, and gropes his pocket for his notepad, flipping a few pages to find the right one and reading off directions. "Got a few agents guarding the scene, told them to shoot anyone who toes the line."

"I need to call DiNozzo, he'll run the scene with Ziva." Gibbs flips a few pages in the file. "Ducky will pick up Abby and take her to NCIS, tell her personally." He nods, knowing it's the right call because theirs is a special friendship and only Ducky will be able to calm the Goth enough to keep her from running to the hospital to get to her geek. Gibbs picks up his phone, dialing from memory, eyes still skimming in the file.

"Very Special Agent DiNozzo," Tony answers, all glee. "Come on Boss!" he immediately whines before Gibbs can get a word in, obviously having read the caller ID before picking up. "We're supposed to be off–"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs snaps softly, interrupting.

Tony stops and there's a pause. An audible swallow. "What happened?"

Reality is a hard hit that rockets Gibbs' very foundation. Repeating what had happenedsinks it all in and he does not like that this is not some sort of horrible nightmare that he can wake up from. His phone snaps shut once he's sure Tony is of sound enough mind to pass on the news and then he turns to Fornell, steel eyes conveying nothing but his need to _know_ and _do something_.

"Hospital" Gibbs says, because he knows where he goes Fornell goes too, an odd friendship and anchor when needed. "I want to see for myself…" He stops, but both know he wants to finish with _'see for myself McGee is still breathing'_. His eyes close for a moment, allowing himself just a moment of vulnerability.

"Jethro…"

Gibbs swallows hard and snaps his head up and nods, ready.

He wants his pound of flesh plus bonuses, and he's not stopping until he gets it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Bethesda Naval Hospital is a little over an hour away, and Fornell drives too slow. It frays Gibbs' nerves the way his old friend actually applies brakes when he turns, halts completely at stop signs and only goes about ten miles over the posted speed limit. Gibbs could get them there in ten, Ziva probably five, but Fornell takes his time to obey the laws of traffic and Gibbs bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping.

The burning ball of anger simmering low in his belly does not need to be misplaced on something so minor after all, even if he does want to get to McGee faster. So, Gibbs takes a deep breath and attempts to immerse himself in the meager contents of the thin case file, thumb running a trail down the paper as he reads over the description of his agent.

First page is hospital details. There's a list of some of the obvious (name, eye color, height, weight, occupation) and then a list of the less than obvious (blood type, if he is an organ donor, known allergies). Chicken scratch details some of the findings by paramedics, a graph of the human body with notes next to the parts in question. The hastily scrawled "gunshot wound entered right side temple" looks darker than the rest, as if whoever wrote it were afraid doctors would miss it if the text wasn't so bold. Gibbs angrily flips the page, nearly tearing it, after he's stared long enough to realize the description will not cower away at his hardened gaze.

The next sheet specifies what little is known. It's essentially nothing really, save for the vague description of the alleyway where McGee was found. The details that McGee was essentially found "shoved behind a dumpster" is enough to churn Gibbs' gut as he realizes his agent was tossed out like yesterday's trash. Swallowing hard to keep his cool, Gibbs snaps the file shut.

Fornell spares him a glance before darting eyes back to the road. "I know there's not much Jethro, but there hasn't been much time to investigate and update it. Soon as I heard the news all I had time for was to see the kid at the hospital to do the ID, get a call in to Vance, and then inform you."

"Appreciate that Tobias." And Gibbs does, really. A lot. Probably more than Fornell can even begin to know. Because, even if there isn't much right now, the news that McGee survived is enough fuel to keep Gibbs moving. Later, it won't be, but for right now he can at least focus on something positive.

Casting him another glance, Fornell sighs and then accelerates without comment.

They manage to reach the hospital in twenty minutes rather than the initial seventy, still too slow for Gibbs' liking, and they skid to a stop just outside the ambulance bay. A chubby security guard steps up to protest, but neither agents break their stride as they flash their badges and continue on, Fornell leading the way to the neurology unit when Gibbs gets turned around in the many halls branching off the lobby.

As soon as they hit a familiar area though, Gibbs breaks off in three long strides and shoves his badge into the face of the nurse sitting at the receptionist desk. She merely raises a brow at his clipped, "Special Agent McGee. Where?" and turns to type into the computer behind. Her eyes rove over the screen and when she turns back she shakes her head, refusing to give anything away to someone who's not immediate family or a medical proxy.

When the beginnings of a growl rumbles deep in his throat, Gibbs has to shrug off Fornell's restraining hand.

"Special Agent Gibbs?" Gibbs nods as a sandy-haired man in rumpled green scrubs comes up to throw out a palm for him to shake. "Dr. Ryan Scott. We received a phone call from your director, said you'd been in to check on your man." He drops his hand, unperturbed, when Gibbs just blinks at him expectantly, and then turns to Fornell. "You are…?"

"FBI Special Agent Fornell," Gibbs introduces before Fornell can speak up, getting that out of the way so more pressing matters could take the forefront. "You're McGee's doctor?"

"I led the team that operated on Agent McGee. We're getting him settled in a room at the moment, a nurse is cleaning up and doing a few checks. Surgery was touch-and-go, we lost him once on the table, but we got him back very quickly and managed to proceed to reduce the swelling and extract the bullet."

"Is he…?"

"Alive. He's a very lucky man. Mere millimeters and I'd be directing you to the morgue."

Gibbs curses, rubbing at his mouth to quell the shock, this time doing nothing as Fornell's hand makes its way back up to his shoulder and squeezes. "When will he wake?"

_When_. Not _if_. Because _if _was not an option.

"The ball is in his court. It is simply impossible to know. Though the bullet didn't penetrate his skull, his brain was shaken violently from whatever impacted his head."

"Our ME will want details," Gibbs says, already planning to have Ducky translate all medical-speak. "Has someone already come by to process?"

"Photographs, sample collections, and sexual assault kit – it's all standard operating procedure." Scott attempts a reassuring smile as both agents straighten at the latter. "Kit test was negative. No signs of blood or semen, nor any indications of penetration." Gibbs releases a breath he only just realized he'd been holding. "We did find some foreign matter, possibly dirt, but I assumed you would want your lab to process it all."

"Somebody from NCIS will come by to pick everything up," Gibbs says it to Scott, but the response is directed at Fornell, who grits his teeth. They'll have words about it later, probably. "Now, my agent. Show me." Gibbs is already stepping into the hallway expecting the doctor to take lead. Scott, fortunately, doesn't disappoint, so Gibbs doesn't have to resort to unethical tactics in order to see his agent.

He's waited too long, and he's not waiting any longer.

They stop at a closed door near the nurses station and Scott stops Gibbs before he can plow on through. "You've seen worse, and I get that, but this is one of your own and that's reason enough to shock the life out of you. He's not on a ventilator, thank goodness, but he's hooked up to machines. Tons. So try not to touch the wires."

Fornell asks, "How long are visiting hours?"

"Ended hours ago." Scott grins, though it holds no mirth. "Just don't cause a ruckus and our eyes will blind." He makes to leave, but stops suddenly and turns back to Gibbs. "Do we know who an Anthony DiNozzo is? Agent McGee's records designated him as medical proxy."

Gibbs blinks. Really? He knew the two were close, knew Tony teased McGee like the little brother he never had, but he never really realized how serious the two took that bond. It warms something inside. The two hadn't exactly gotten off on the best foot when McGee first arrived after all.

"He's NCIS too," Fornell speaks up when Gibbs doesn't. "They're partners. Friends. He'll be 'round soon."

Scott mutters something about forms and decisions, then nods and departs, telling them to have a nurse page him if anything comes up.

Gibbs pushes the door open and takes one step forward to cross the threshold. He squints, allowing his eyes the few moments it takes to adjust to the sudden darkness before him, then blinks once, twice, three times and takes in the man before him._ Dammit, McGee… _The sight of his youngest lying still and pale in a hospital bed that seems to dwarf him stabs through his gut worse than any gunshot or knife ever could.

Another stutter step, than a pause as he feels a presence against his right shoulder. "Tobias," he calls his old friend, voice low and soft to adjust to the peacefulness the hospital room attempts to personify. "Give me a minute, yeah?" Phrased as a question, but really a demand that Fornell is quick to comply to, patting Gibbs' shoulder before stepping back, pulling the door closed behind him.

Gibbs presses forward slowly, tentatively, eyes glued to McGee's uncharacteristically still form. If not for the steady rising and falling of his chest, a wonderfully physical sign of life, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor, Gibbs wouldn't think the man alive. His stomach turns as he recalls _mere millimeters _and that would not be the case. When he finally makes it to the bedside, he reaches and runs a hand lightly over the thick bunch of white bandages wrapped around McGee's head, covering his forehead and stopping just before his eyebrows.

His hair is short and uneven, cut probably for when the surgeons had to operate. It's shortest the most where the bullet entered on the right side, and sticking up and out on the other side where the bandages wrap around for leverage. His face, though unnaturally pale, is spared except for a dark bluish-black bruise that starts under his left eye and continues down to his cheek where it begins to fade. A punch, perhaps, maybe more than one judging by the amount of area it consumes.

The rest of his body, the portion that is exposed to Gibbs at least, is marked with bruises with no set pattern. The one on his neck – a handprint – and the one on his wrist – partial shoeprint – makes Gibbs see red. He has to run a calming hand down the length of his face to get his heart to stop trying to thump straight out of his chest.

"We'll get them Tim." Gibbs presses a soft hand to McGee's right cheek. "Whoever hurt you, I swear, we're going to make them pay. That's a promise. This team has your six, so don't you worry about anything but getting better. Remember, you don't die until you get my permission, and that's one consent you'll never get."

He remains like that for a long moment, guarding his agent, rubbing soothing circles into his cheek with his thumb, assuring himself McGee is alive. It does wonders for the flip-flop in his stomach, easing it bit by bit, though it never recedes completely. Probably won't until McGee awakens, Gibbs realizes with a soft sigh.

The ringing of his phone snaps him back to reality and he manages to ignore it until it goes silent. His eyes close though, waiting for the inevitable, displeased when it reaches expectations and begins to ring again.

"I'll be back," Gibbs promises, cupping McGee's cheek softly one final time before drawing his hand back and wheeling around for the door. As soon as he exits, startling Fornell with his abrupt appearance, he snaps his phone out and barks, "Gibbs."

"Boss." Tony's voice is hauntingly serious on the other end of the line, too serious for the usually playful tone that regularly brands the senior field agent. "Are you at the hospital? Have you seen McGee? How is he? Any news?" Ziva's voice, sharp and tinny in the background, rises in volume with her own lines of questions.

"I just left his room. He's alive."

Tony lets out a _whoosh _of breath, obviously needing Gibbs to confirm what he could not see for himself. "Good. That's good." His and Ziva's relief is palpable over the phone. "Is he awake?"

"No." Gibbs rubs the space between his eyes tiredly, wishing there was better news to pass or, at the very least, what little he had could be passed face-to-face instead. There's no point to wait, though, Tony is not that patient and there's no use in keeping him the dark. "Listen, he's comatose and the doctors aren't sure when he'll wake."

There was a pause, then: "But he _will_ wake, won't he Boss? You said he got shot…" A hesitation, slight but definitely there. "He got shot in the _head_, right? But he's still alive, right? So that's… That's _good_ Boss, yeah?"

"Yes Tony." First name, like that'll soften the blow. "He'll wake." But he doesn't say it's good because…how can it be?

"Doesn't have permission to do anything else. Doesn't have permission to…" Tony swallows audibly. "You said it, I know you did, but tell him that comes from the senior field agent too." The "From me as well!" sounds emphatically in the background and Tony chuckles, though stilted it may be. "Comes from the senior field agent _and_ former Mossad officer. You tell him that Boss."

"Right DiNozzo." Gibbs nods, teeth grit in a grim smile, a swell of pride bursting for his team. "You got anything for me?"

"We're at the scene and floodlights are set up, but it's still too damn dark out here to really find anything conclusive. We'll get more at first light, but we've been rounding up names of witnesses for questioning. Not many people out here Boss. Pharmacy is closed on the weekend and the coffee place was empty except the one barista."

"Barista hear anything suspicious?"

"No. Ziva is thinking silencer."

"And you?"

Tony sighs. "This place is pretty far from McGee's apartment, Boss. His car isn't even around here. I'm thinking it was a dump site." The words seem to physically pain the senior field agent. "I sent a few agents to Silver Springs, haven't heard from them yet, but they're just going to scope the area, see if the car is there or not. Ziva and I want to be the ones who check his apartment."

"All right. Call Balboa's team and get them to finish there. Don't wait for them. Leave FBI in charge and you and Ziva head over to McGee's apartment. Usual sweep, DiNozzo, no stone left unturned. As soon as you're done there, take the evidence to NCIS and then head on over to the hospital."

"Boss?"

"McGee named you medical proxy DiNozzo. There are forms and decisions you need to make."

Tony sucks in a breath. His voice cracks again. "Right Boss, I–" He falters, takes another breath, then his voices comes over the line again, better than before but still too weak, "Do we… I mean, his _family_ Boss… Is someone informing them? McGee mentioned Sara was in Italy for the summer, something for her English Lit. class, but his mom died when he was young and his dad…"

"Tony–"

"Look Boss," Tony is fast to interrupt, serious, "Tim doesn't make it known, but he's told me, okay? Him and his dad don't get along. The Admiral is tough shit, Boss, and… I just don't think Tim wants anyone else to know, you know?"

Gibbs tell him, "It'll be handled Tony, don't worry about that, just process the apartment and then get to the hospital."

"Right. Got it Boss. See you soon."

Gibbs disconnects the call with a frown and replaces his phone into the pocket of his slacks. He sags against the wall, banging his head back twice against the plaster, robotically accepting the coffee Fornell presses into his hand. "What time is it?"

"Little after 2AM," Fornell says. "Sunday, if you didn't know."

"I didn't."

"How's the scene? Something wrong?"

"Aside from the obvious?"

"Aside from the obvious."

Gibbs knocks back a pull from his coffee. "Possible dump site. DiNozzo and David are headed for McGee's apartment." He takes another sip, slower this time to savor the caffeine. "Hear anything from your end?"

"I talked to my agent who processed McGee; she said there was saliva on his shirt."

Gibbs eyes darkened. "They spit on him?"

"Seems like."

"Son-of-a-bitch." Gibbs angrily cards a hand through his hair.

A voice interrupts, familiar and authoritative, "Steady Special Agent Gibbs" and Gibbs turns on his heel in time to watch Director Leon Vance make his way down the hall toward them. Gibbs's brow rises at the man's dress of jeans and a simple black button-down, but says nothing, chalking it up to the late night (early morning?).

"Director Vance," Fornell nods a greeting.

"Agent Fornell." Vance nods back. "Once again, let me thank you for coming straight to NCIS as soon as you were aware of Agent McGee's involvement." Fornell waves him off, so Vance turns to Gibbs. "Agent McGee?"

"Comatose," Gibbs spits angrily, hand clenching his cup so much that it depresses and a bit of coffee manages to spurt from the top. He hisses as the hot liquid lands on his fingers and waves his hand in the air in frustration. "What the hell are you doing here Leon?"

"Checking on my agent. Wanted to see for myself he was okay."

That makes sense. Gibbs gets it, really. Soon as you hear "shot in the temple" you automatically assume it's going to be followed by "dead before he hit the ground" and not "stable but comatose". It's something you need to see for yourself. Gibbs hadn't even believed until he laid his eyes on the younger agent himself after all, and he could only imagine how DiNozzo and Ziva were faring without the visual.

Gibbs deflates. "One of mine will guard his room tonight. If this person is still out there, I want an agent on McGee twenty-four seven."

Vance nods. "Of course. Today, FBI can–"

"No," Gibbs interrupts and repeats, "One of mine – DiNozzo or David." Probably both, if either has any say in it.

"Agent Gibbs, it's late and your team needs–"

"My team needs to see McGee," Gibbs says. "Non-negotiable, Leon. We'll let others on the rotation after, by my approval, but today mine get to take care of their own."

Vance licks his lips, obviously ready to argue, but he backs down at the last moment and jerks a nod in defeat. "All right." He casts a glance around, expecting people to pop up around corners. "Where is the rest of your team?"

"I sent them straight to the scene. They're heading to McGee's apartment now and will be here shortly."

The tale of meager findings at the scene pulls Vance's lips into a frown, but his relief is obvious when he hears the negative results of the SAE kit conducted at the hospital. "Damn lucky," Vance mutters this time before turning back to Gibbs. "I assume you're staying here to wait for Agents DiNozzo and David?" He nods at Gibbs' affirmative. "All right, and will Ms. Scuito be by to collect evidence?"

"I asked DiNozzo to have Ducky head her off before she stormed the beach," Gibbs replies jokingly, his tone lacking any humor it might've held at the comment and resulting image of Hurricane Abby had it been any other day. "If anything it'll only delay her, but we need this evidence processed ASAP, so I'm going to send her back to NCIS as soon as she sees McGee for herself."

"Can she handle this?"

Gibbs nods without hesitation. "Wild horses couldn't keep her away."

"Alright, but if she needs it, we've got FBI and other NCIS forensic scientists in our back pocket. She doesn't like working with others, I get that, and McGee's her friend, I get that too, but she can't be both places at the same time and there's always going to be evidence to run."

"I got it. I'll make sure she's aware."

"Good." Vance gives a grim nod. "Now unfortunately that's not all I wanted to pass. I got an MTAC feed to Agent McGee's father. He's stationed in Norfolk, got there sometime after McGee transferred to the Navy Yard. Did you know?" At Gibbs' head shake Vance nods in response. "Didn't think so."

"How'd he take it? DiNozzo wasn't exactly singing the Admiral's praises when he asked about McGee's family getting the news."

"No? Well, I hope you're not expecting glowing reviews from me either. When I passed on the news to Admiral McGee that his son had been attacked he couldn't be bothered to even ask how badly injured. Barely managing to get a word in edgewise, you know, since the man was obviously too busy with other duties rather than listen to a word I was saying. I did volunteer the information of McGee's head wound."

"He coming down?" Gibbs asks, though really he doesn't know why since the answer seems plainly obvious.

"He's having his yeoman send flowers," Vance spits bitterly. "The nerve of that man… Far be it for me to tell him how to interact with his own grown son, but…" Vance shakes his head, breathing out his anger. "He wants updates, once a week, but we're not too worry if there's too much on our plates."

Fornell mutters a dark curse, his face a beet red, disbelief obvious. "Is this bastard for real? If this was my Emily…" He trails off, not wanting to finish the statement because even the mere _thought_ of his daughter in such a situation pains him.

Before Gibbs, fury in his darkened expression, has even a chance to voice his own opinion of the good Admiral, a small cough and forced throat clearing turns all three men around to face a short nurse with wide eyes. She looks between the three of them before finally setting her eyes on Gibbs and holds out a basin, plastic bag poking out the top.

"Special Agent Gibbs? Dr. Grant thought you might want to take a look at this – it's the bullet we extracted from Agent McGee – he wasn't sure if you wanted it or if I should bring it to the back with the rest of the agent's personal affects."

"Yeah, that's fine just–" Gibbs stops. His eye catches something and he jerks forward to snatch the basin from the startled nurse's hand, dropping it and instead clutching the see-through baggie holding the lone bullet. He squints, recognizing. "Son of a bitch…" He turns back to the nurse. "Agent McGee's gun – where is it?"

The nurse shakes her head. "There was none."

Fornell curses loudly and whips out his phone to make a call, while Gibbs does the same, eyes never leaving the bullet.

"DiNozzo," Tony answers quickly, barely managing to let the first ring finish. "Boss? What happened? Is it McGee?"

"Where are you DiNozzo?"

"McGee's apartment, and I was just about to–"

"Is McGee's gun there?" Gibbs interrupts. "Or did you recover it from the crime scene?"

"What? No. I thought you had it there at the hospital with McGee."

"No. I'm holding the bullet doctors extracted from McGee during surgery though and it's standard issue." Gibbs' hand clenches around the plastic bag, crumpling it in his grip. "DiNozzo…"

"I know Boss, this means there's a chance McGee might've been shot with his own weapon. Find the weapon, find evidence to the shooter." Tony inhales, breath caught. "Dammit Boss…" He mutters a few curse words before snapping back into action. "I'll tell Balboa's team to be on the lookout. But listen, what I was saying before, I was just about to call – someone busted into McGee's apartment."

Gibbs closes his eyes. "Trashed?"

"No Boss, that's what's weird, there's no sign of struggle, just the door hanging off the hinge and no sign of McMutt anywhere. Ziva is questioning neighbors, but nobody's heard a thing coming from in here all weekend. You think he got nabbed?"

"I'm not sure what to think right now. Just finish up there and get to the hospital as soon as you can. You and Ziva are on guard duty with me tonight."

"Got it, Boss."

Dial tone follows and Gibbs pinches his nose as a steady thump begins to make its presence known between his eyes. It takes all his energy not to whirl around and slam his fist through the wall.

"Gibbs?" Vance questions.

Fornell slams his own phone shut in frustration. "Damn incompetent–" He heaves a seething breath and turns to the others. "Agent McGee's gun was never reported missing. I'm assuming by the look on your face it wasn't at his apartment either?"

Gibbs nods and steps back toward McGee's door, shoving the plastic baggie at Vance. "There's a chance this bullet came from McGee's weapon, so this means there's a chance McGee caught sight of the deadbeat who shot him." He clenches the doorknob in a tight grip. "Guard duty starts now Leon, I'm not taking any chances with McGee's safety while that bastard's still out there."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Gibbs straightens as quick, heavy footfalls sound just outside the door. His hand hovers close to his holster as his eyes track a shadow just under the door frame. When the door creaks open, however, and a familiar, lithe frame slips gracefully through, he pushes his half-drawn gun back into place and sits back into the stiff chair he'd risen from.

He tracks Ziva as she presses forward silently, her own eyes meeting Gibbs' before settling back on their unconscious companion lying still in the large hospital bed. She reaches out first for the blanket foot, then continues her trek up the bed, ghosting her hand along as she walks close to the frame. Her hand freezes at his chest and softly presses flat there, allowing it to rise and fall with each of his breaths. Ziva's head lowers as her eyes shut tightly.

Rising from his seat, Gibbs touches her shoulder lightly before taking his leave.

Closing the door behind him, Gibbs gives the FBI agent stationed in front a brief nod before taking off down the hallway. If Ziva is here, after all, DiNozzo has to be around somewhere. None of the personnel at the nurses station has seen his agent come through though, so he makes his way back to the waiting room and casts a glance around for the missing man. From behind the reception desk, one particularly helpful nurse calls his attention and wordlessly gestures toward the nearby restrooms with a frown that has him instantly changing course.

Inside the bathroom, someone coughs wetly and then vomits. It lasts for a handful of minutes and ends with a couple good spits before the sound of a flush. Tony, pale-faced and a bit wobbly, exits a stall and heads straight for a sink. Spinning the faucet, he lowers his mouth to the streaming water and gargles and spits. When he cups his hands to splash water on his face, he freezes as he straightens and spots Gibbs eyeing him in the mirror.

"I can't even remember the last time I ralphed like that."

"Feel better?"

Tony grimaces. He doesn't respond as he paws the dispenser to his right and wipes at his face with the rough paper napkin. Balling it up tight, he tosses the napkin into the bin, then hitches a hip against the sink as he runs another hand down the length of his face. Gibbs crosses his own arms and leans silently against the wall next to him.

"I talked to the doctor when we came in since I'm proxy, so I sent Ziva on ahead. They handed me all these forms, wanted me to sign a bunch of things, asked about medical history and…" A heaving breath. "There were decisions, Boss. Just in case scenarios, ya know? Just in case things go even further south than they already are, like I can even think about how this could possibly be _worse_."

"DiNozzo…"

Another deep breath, the next words husky and rushed, tumbling over each other in their bid to leave Tony's mouth: "They told me how they had to _drill a hole into his skull_ to relieve the pressure and–"

"Tony!"

Tony, eyes as wide as saucers and face tinted green, moans and then spins around on his heel just in time to wretch into the sink. His shoulders heave violently as he releases what little is left of his stomach contents. Gibbs wets a bunch of paper towels and presses them into his hands, waiting until it passes before guiding him to a different sink to rinse out his mouth.

Gibbs presses a gentle hand against the back of Tony's neck to keep him down. "Just take a couple seconds. Breathe." He takes his own exaggerated breath in example.

"I'm done," Tony says shakily and then spits and coughs. "I'm fine. It's fine."

Gibbs sighs and squeezes gently before letting go. "Not yet, but it will be." He steps back to give Tony room to compose himself. "Whenever you're ready…"

Tony nods. He gulps a few times, testing the waters, before allowing Gibbs to lead him out and down the hallway toward McGee's room. The guard starts at their presence but, recognizing Gibbs, settles. Gibbs opens the door and guides Tony in, gently pushing the senior field agent to keep him moving.

Ziva looks up at their entrance. Her eyes linger on Tony then turn back to McGee, bending down to stroke his hair and kiss his forehead before walking out. "I will gets us drinks. Coffee, yes?" Tony, who's eyes are still on the form inside, doesn't even acknowledge her as she squeezes his hand in passing.

Gibbs moves to follow her out, but a weak "Boss" from Tony keeps him still.

Tony moves with a distinct air of hesitation, stumbling after pausing a few moments in the doorway. His eyes remain on the prone figure in the bed. He reaches, but pulls back at the last second as his vision adjusts to the darkness and the heavy swath of bandages packed against McGee's temple becomes prominent.

Gibbs steps forward when the man's face rapidly begins to pale again. "DiNozzo."

Tony starts suddenly, almost like he'd forgotten Gibbs was even in the room in the first place. He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a deep breath that sags his shoulders. "I…ah…didn't really believe it until now, ya know. I mean, I know you would never pull our chains or anything like that, Boss, but I've seen people get shot in the head and…" Tony reaches up to feel his own cheek, eyes lost in a memory. "And people don't generally _survive_ that Boss, so, I was thinking, how could he?"

"Luck DiNozzo." As simple as that. "Pure luck." And why not?

Tony still scoffs when he hears it though. Not that Gibbs can really blame him because, honestly, as much as it possibly could be, it's just not that simple. Not when there are still so many questions as to the _why_ and the _how_.

Tony makes a reach again, but pulls back again. Gibbs takes two long strides and snatches the hand before it can retract fully though, and drags him the rest of the way over and presses Tony's hand against a blanketed knee. Tony's breath hitches again and Gibbs lets him go, satisfied when Tony doesn't move anywhere but up. Like Ziva, his hand ghosts over the prone body, but it doesn't stop at the chest, he continues on until he's cupping the hurt side of McGee's head.

"You focus on getting better Tim," Tony says, soft and gentle as his eyes run over the bruises and marks littering his friend's body. "Whoever hit you, whoever kicked you, whoever _shot _you…" Another breath hitch, his eyes shining with emotion. "We won't stop, Tim. We won't stop until we find the bastards who hurt you."

He rambles on, promises payback and protection between obscure _The Dead Zone _facts, idly wondering if McGee will wake up with psychic powers. "Automobile accident, not a bullet, but it's semantics at this point anyway Tim, because you're not going to be down and out for five years." He grins tightly. "You don't worry about it though, because we've got your six either way."

A soft knock on the door and suddenly Ducky is poking his head through. Tony doesn't seem to notice, his focus solely on McGee, but Gibbs does and he exits, satisfied that Tony will be okay without him in the room. Ducky lingers a bit in the doorway, eyes on McGee, before he too slips back out. They walk a few short paces down the hall, away from the FBI agent.

"Jethro…I…" Ducky pulls his glasses from his face and wipes at his eyes.

"You talked to the doctors? The surgeon who operated on McGee?" Ducky nods to both. "What's the news?"

"He's lucky. Very lucky."

Gibbs shakes his head, muffling a dark chuckle that holds absolutely no mirth. "They keep saying that, Duck. Everyone. Even me when Tobias first told me the news, but it's not feeling so lucky anymore."

Ducky grabs his forearm and squeezes it desperately in a shaky grip. "He's _alive_ Jethro. A bullet entered through his temple and, _miraculously_, Timothy is still fighting to be with us. There can be no greater joy to hang on to than that right now. "

"Miracle," Gibbs says, rolling the word around on his tongue. He nods. "All right Duck, tell me what the next step is."

"A battery of tests will be performed over the upcoming days Jethro – EEG, MRI, CAT scans. His head suffered a devastating blow, not just from the bullet, but from whatever he struck on the way down."

Gibbs grit his teeth and his hands curled into fists. "Or from whatever struck him after he was down."

Ducky frowns at that, not able to offer any dispute. He pushes ahead: "The shock, the blood loss, and the blow to his head are all combining factors in his comatose state. Until more tests are run, we cannot know more about his condition. Tonight…today…Timothy needs _rest_. A long road will be ahead for all of us Jethro."

Not even twenty-four hours has passed. Gibbs wants to groan. He already feels exhausted.

Ziva appears out of nowhere, drink tray balanced delicately in one hand as another holds out a tumbler to Gibbs. She frowns when she sees Ducky, no drink to offer since he had not been around when she departed to fetch the beverages.

"It is of no worry," Ducky says. "I must proceed to the Navy Yard. I merely stepped in to see Timothy for myself and show face with his doctors. Anything significant happens and they will ring me, assuming you do not. I will be back in the morning hours to observe the tests."

Ziva asks, before he can leave, "Will he wake?"

Ducky pats her hand soothingly, understanding that it is more a personal question than a medical. "I have no doubt in my mind he will that, my dear. As evidence to the unfortunate circumstances, Timothy is quite resilient."

Ziva offers a small smile at that, dipping her head in thanks before moving along to enter the hospital room, once again leaving the two older gentleman alone.

As Ducky squeezes Gibbs' forearm one last time to bid his adieu, something clicks before he can wheel around. "Ah, Jethro, I almost forgot young Abigail. I drove to her house to tell her the news face-to-face, you see. I had figured I would try to keep her away but…well, you know Abigail, she is persistent when she wants something."

"Figured I'd have to pry her off McGee," Gibbs confesses.

"Yes, well, I had thought so too, so I was well prepared to offer her a ride to the hospital since I was coming this way first before the Navy Yard, but she would not budge. Her first instinct was to go into work, insisted on processing evidence."

"She wants to catch the bastards who hurt McGee."

"As we all do, Jethro, but I don't believe it's that simple. The poor girl is in shock. When I offered to give her a ride to the hospital, just to see Timothy, if only for a few seconds, she adamantly refused to go anywhere near this place. I let her go on her way, but I believe a talking to is in order. Something is troubling her."

Gibbs frowns, looking back and forth from the hospital room.

"Not tonight," Ducky interrupts before he can even start. "Timothy is in obvious need of your attention, I was merely planting the seed in your mind so you know what may be expected later on. I will, of course, try to talk to her, but it is you who she most listens to Jethro."

Gibbs nods. "All right. She wants evidence, Tony and Ziva should've dropped off boxes, and Leon should've brought back what the hospital collected. If anything, that should keep her occupied for the time being. I'll be at the Navy Yard in the morning."

"Try to get some rest Jethro. It will do Timothy no good if you and the others burn out before the end of the first day." When Gibbs does not reply, Ducky sighs and pats his arm one final time. "Call me if anything changes."

Gibbs watches Ducky walk the length of the hallway, only spinning around when his old friend steps around a corner and out of sight. He gives a nod to the FBI agent at the door before pushing through. Ziva, sitting on the right side of the bed, looks up when he enters while Tony, sitting on the other side with one hand resting protectively on McGee's arm, keeps his gaze on the figure in the bed.

"A nurse came in," Ziva tells him. "She checked his vitals. There has been no change."

Gibbs nods in acknowledgement. He walks further into the room and settles into the chair to Ziva's right. He sips at his coffee, allowing them the moment, before he finally says: "The apartment - tell me."

Ziva speaks up first. "The door looked like it might have been kicked in. We lifted a sample left on the wood, but its tread look like nothing more than a regular work boot." She runs a gentle finger across McGee's left wrist. "It is different to this marking here. This one is wide, the one on the door was small and narrow. Suggests two suspects."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs says when the little bit of Tony's face he can see starts to turn red.

"Right. Right Boss." Tony has to swipe a sleeves across his face before he can look over to Gibbs, his eyes red-rimmed but determined. "Like I said before, we couldn't find Jethro – the _dog_, obviously – but his leash was gone from the hook near the door. It wouldn't be far off to think maybe Tim took him out for a walk and that's when he got…" He swallows the word _shot._

Ziva picks up again, "Neighbors had not seen McGee all weekend, but they say they hardly see him anyway with the hours we keep. When we asked of regular walking routes, they were unsure of which path McGee usually takes, but were able to provide us with nearby locations. We passed all information to Agent Balboa's team and they are planning to begin searches and call animal control."

Gibbs runs a calming hand down the length of his face in attempt to quell the obvious frustration.

"It is not much," Ziva concedes, chagrined.

Tony purses his lips and glares at nothing in particular.

Gibbs asks. "Who was the last to see McGee?"

"He turned down our offer to get drinks after work on Friday. As I was exiting, he was still working on something at his desk, but I could not see what it was. I had not seen him since."

Gibbs nods. The last he had seen McGee was when he was dismissing them for the weekend while on his way up to talk with Vance. When he had returned from the rather long meeting the bullpen had been empty. Normal routine.

"We had pizza for lunch Saturday. Spent maybe three hours together," confesses Tony. "I was needling him to go to this Hitchcock double feature, but he wouldn't budge. He said he had already made plans. I thought he was just going to play computer games all night; even teased him about it because he got embarrassed when I suggested." Tony frowns. "Last thing I said to him was that I hoped he had fun in cyber isolation. He laughed."

Gibbs manages to hide a wince at that.

Ziva, seeming to sense the thickening tension, offers Tony a small smile. "If he laughed, I am sure he knew you meant nothing by it."

Tony shrugs, looking away.

"That's enough," Gibbs says finally. "We let the night shift handle scenes and evidence." He holds up his hand, stopping Ziva and Tony's protests before they can even start. "We're on protection detail. I need you two focused on that right now, everything else can wait until later."

"But Boss–"

"Don't even start DiNozzo. McGee was only shot once, _in the head_, because that shot was meant to take him down. Understand? It was a _kill _shot that, for whatever reason, be it luck or a miracle or even both, _didn't _kill." His words are blunt, harsh even, but he _needs_ them to understand why their current priority is protection. "That son-of-a-bitch is out there and there's no saying he's not going to figure out McGee survived and want to finish the job."

Ziva, eyes bright, presses closer to the bed, while Tony jerks a nod in understanding.

"We take shifts," Gibbs continues. "There's an FBI agent at the door, but one of us will remain awake and in here while the other two sleep. There's a couch in here and the nurses have offered to bring in a cot. If we're going to get a good start on this we need to be rested. I don't want anyone staying up all night. If you do, I'm sending you home. Got it?"

"I'll take the first shift," Tony says quickly. "I can't sleep Boss. Not now."

When Ziva doesn't protest, Gibbs nods before rising to get their sleeping arrangements settled. Ziva quickly claims the cot a nurse rolls in and pushes it close to the hospital bed. She lays on her side facing McGee, reaching to squeeze his hand before closing her eyes. Gibbs settles on the couch, curling his long legs to adjust as he stares at the ceiling. Despite earlier words, Gibbs knows none of them will get an adequate amount of proper sleep.

Still, as Ducky said, a long road was ahead. They need to be on their A game.

So, Gibbs closes his eyes and sleeps.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Happenstance has them conveniently intersect at the elevator, Gibbs arriving while Fornell is attempting a departure that gets stalled when an icy blue stare plants him in place. The metal doors slide close and Gibbs pushes the emergency switch somewhere between the first and second floor, jolting the elevator to an abrupt stop and plunging the two agents into darkness. Fornell, too used to his old friend's antics by now, barely blinks.

"How's the kid?"

"Elevated heart rate and breathing issues. No ventilator, but they replaced the nasal cannula with an oxygen mask."

It scared the living daylights out of Gibbs and the rest of his team. Not even an hour into the protection detail and the heart monitor had gone off. A swarm of scrubs had descended on them like locust, shoving them out of the way and surrounding their prone friend. The erratic beeping eventually calmed to a normal rhythm and one responding resident had tried to calm them by saying it was a common occurrence after emergency surgery, but the damage had already been done. Aside from short power naps here and there, none of them had slept, their nerves too frayed.

Fornell eyes him warily. "You should get some rest. I can head the case, Jethro. You know I like McGee. I rag on him hard, especially after Diane, but I've still got a soft spot for the kid. FBI can–"

Gibbs interrupts with a sharp shake of his head. "You already know my answer to that one Tobias."

Genuine as it is, Fornell's offer is halfhearted. Fornell is not an idiot. He knows once Gibbs digs his heels in there is no budging him.

They bring each other up to speed, Gibbs passing information extracted from Tony and Ziva about their inspections last night while Fornell outlines the FBI's current plan of action. Agents have been sent back to the alleyway now that daylight had arrived, a BOLO is being issued for the missing Porsche, and a bulletin will be going out about the German Shepherd. Interviews need to be conducted and old case files will be combed through.

Fornell says, "It's not a lot to go on."

"But we've dealt with less," Gibbs tells him "Wait for Abby to get through the evidence. She'll find something."

"She's being difficult with my scientist. Got a call that she bit his head off when he tried to make arrangements to take some of the load. My director won't like that. I already told you to do what you do, but this is still a joint operation with FBI running point."

Gibbs frowns. He should've known. Abby is, after all, very protective of all her friends. McGee even more so.

"I'll talk to her."

Fornell gives a sharp nod, satisfied. He presses the emergency stop to get the elevator going again and then tells Gibbs of the FBI agents he's got on rotation for guard duty at the hospital, all seasoned and all checked and approved by Fornell himself. Any problem with their end and Fornell will fix it personally, but any "stupid shit" NCIS agents cause and Gibbs is on his own.

When they land on the correct floor Fornell remains in the elevator while Gibbs steps out. Fornell jabs a finger at Gibbs and levels him with a steely glare that holds no real heat.

"I'm heading back to the Hoover Building to brief my director. You be sure to keep me in the loop. I'm warning you Jethro, any of this comes back to bite me in the ass and I'm calling up that wicked witch masquerading as our ex-wife and telling her you want back in with all the other flying monkeys."

Gibbs harrumphs, the corners of his lips twitching. The metal doors slide close just as a now-smirking Fornell is tossing his hand up in farewell and Gibbs shakes his head, appreciative of his old friend's attempts to lighten the situation.

Dragging a hand down his face to compose himself, Gibbs turns and strides across bullpen, right through the middle of his team's empty workspace, and mounts the stairs to the Director's office. Pamela barely manages a squeak of protest at his whirlwind entrance before he's blasting past her and barging into Vance's office without knocking.

Vance, turning from where he's standing behind his desk and looking out the large windows overlooking the Navy Yard, isn't the least bit surprised. "I was wondering if I'd be seeing you today, Agent Gibbs." A toothpick dances around his mouth. "Special Agent McGee?"

He repeats the same report he gave Fornell and adds, "McGee's care is being taken over by a Dr. Hank Turner. Duck says he's an accomplished neurosurgeon. They're running him through tests today. Lots. Ducky and DiNozzo stayed."

Tony had flat-out refused to leave. When Gibbs had initiated the order, he'd gripped the railing of McGee's bed almost as if afraid Gibbs would use brute force to make him. The dark bags forming under each of his senior field agent's green eyes made it tempting, but Ducky had stepped in before an argument could actually formulate.

"It may be best to keep Anthony within the vicinity. The doctors will still need to speak with Anthony because of his position as Timothy's medical proxy. It would be conversations that should not be undertaken over the phone, I'm afraid."

Ducky's words had slashed them all through the gut. Tony had looked about to wretch.

Gibbs wanted to too, honestly.

Vance, thankfully, doesn't ask Gibbs to elaborate more than what had been given. He does ask about Ziva though.

"Dropped her off at home to rest. Should be back in the afternoon sometime."

Ziva hadn't been particularly happy about that. She'd protested the entire ride home, refusing to be the "weak man linked out". Gibbs hadn't corrected the mashed up idioms, just let her rant and rave to get it out of her system. When they'd arrived at her apartment he'd had to practically shove her out of the agency sedan. Her hurt eyes staring into his as he drove away formed a lump in his throat he still hadn't been able to swallow.

Vance asks, "Can they handle this?"

"Yes."

No hesitation. The worry for their teammate had left bruises that wouldn't heal until answers were found, and Gibbs would be damned if anybody had the gall to stand in their way.

"I don't want your team running ragged, Gibbs. This gets too heavy and I won't hesitate to pull you. We have plenty of competent agents in our arsenal."

Not like them. Gibbs' teams is just too good to compare. And this? This is _personal_.

"I'm going to do what I need to do," Gibbs tells him.

He'll keep Vance in the know on what is important. No more and no less. Politics, after all, is a nasty, dirty game that needs to be handled at the Director level and higher. Vance can protect them from it, but he can't do that successfully if he is put in a bad position.

The look Vance shoots Gibbs tells him he understands. He doesn't like it at all, but he definitely understands.

Gibbs briefs Vance on what little is known about the case – the last time McGee was seen, the missing dog, the missing Porsche, and the possibility that the alleyway was a dump site and the shooting happened elsewhere. No suspects right now, but it is still early in the game.

"McGee is probably one of the only field agents in this place that doesn't have an enemy list longer than his left arm," Vance says.

"He works behind a computer a lot," Gibbs admits, "I don't send him out as often as I should."

"He's your rookie. I've heard it before Gibbs – greener than grass, hand-picked by you, and floated through the system so fast he was on your team before the paperwork even hit the right desk. He flourishes under your tutelage and you protect him. Everyone knows that."

_Gibbs protects his own._

It's a rule. Fifty-plus are routinely head slapped into each of his agents, but this one is unspoken. It doesn't need a number because every single person on the planet should know it without question.

A ringing phone jolts them from their thoughts. Vance picks up the one on his desk and plants the receiver against his face. It's SecNav. Politics is starting and Vance is getting pulled into the thick of it. His teeth grit so tight his toothpick snaps. Gibbs takes the opportunity to depart.

Ziva sitting at her desk in the bullpen is not a surprise.

Her brown eyes flash when she sees Gibbs and she holds tight to her desk, not unlike what Tony had done with McGee's bed rail at the hospital earlier.

"You can not make me leave!"

Gibbs sighs. "You were supposed to _stay_ at home."

"I went home. I showered and ate. I came back."

Her clothes are changed and her hair is wet and pulled up into a tight ponytail that drips water down her back. A half-eaten power bar lay on the desk next to her canister of pens. She probably hadn't spent even a half-hour in her apartment before she jetted to the Navy Yard.

"Ziva…"

Ziva slams her fists on her desk. "I want to help McGee!" The sound and shout reverberates around the bullpen so loud multiple heads pop up behind the dividers. Glares shoot their attention away and Ziva turns back to Gibbs and tells him, breath catching, "He is my _brother_."

Gibbs pats her cheek softly. "You start going through case files. Start with ones where McGee was at the forefront. When I come back from the lab we're going to do interviews."

Ziva grins and reaches for her first file.

Gibbs pats her cheek one last time before turning on his heel. He rides the elevator down to Abby's lab.

And the lab is quiet. Too quiet. So uncharacteristically quiet that Gibbs' hand hovers over his holster before that familiar black pigtailed head bobs into view prompts him to push his SIG back into place. He arches a brow and watches the frenetic Goth move from machine to machine, never standing still for more than two seconds before hurrying off into a different area of the lab. She jumps when she finally notices him, hands immediately planting on her hips.

"Gibbs! Don't scare me like that!" Her eyes rove over him. "Where's my Caf-Pow?"

"Abby–"

She shakes her head, effectively cutting him off. "Never mind. You can owe me one. I've stocked up, see?" She points over her shoulder, jabbing a thumb at the multiple big gulp sized Caf-Pow cups littering different areas of her work space. Two long strides to the left and she picks one up, slurping up a long serving before releasing the straw with a faint 'pop'.

Gibbs draws a breath to try again.

Abby motors forward before he can even get a word out. "Your Gibbs-sense was tingling, right? You always know when I have something. It's not much, I warn you now El Jefe, but it's _something _and that's better than nothing, right? Okay. So, see, I've been processing clothes and I found something weird. Not hinky weird and, okay, maybe not even _weird_ weird_, _but definitely unexpected."

The evidence she throws up on her computer screen as well as the large plasma is a shot of McGee's black pea coat. Gibbs has seen him wear it a dozen times. Abby drags her mouse to form a box around the top left shoulder and the picture quickly zooms in to focus on a distinct wet spot.

"Probably thought it was spit, right? I did too. It's actually _dog _drool though. Jethro, my best guess. He's missing right? And he's protective. So if he was with... w-when he got… when… you know, when _that _happened, then maybe Jethro was–"

Gibbs grabs her trembling shoulder, stopping her before she can really get going.

Ducky forewarned him, and Gibbs knew it was bad because it was Abby and Abby never did anything halfway, but the fact that she can't even say McGee's name is disconcerting.

"Abby, you need to tell me you can handle this."

Abby sniffles and swipes a hand across her face.

"Abbs."

"I-I'm trying so hard not to _think_ about it. About who it is. About what happened. _None _of it… But, you know, all his stuff is here in boxes and plastic bags and… There's _pictures_… Pictures of–" Abby scrubs her watery green eyes impatiently. "I haven't looked but... _God_, the notes say he was crammed behind a dumpster like _trash_ and…and…" She slaps a hand across her mouth, breath catching. "_Oh, Gibbs!"_

Gibbs attempts to tug her hand and fold her into a hug, but she pushes back on his chest at the last second. Her head shakes rapidly, pigtails smacking him in the face.

"It's supposed to be like puppies!" Abby tells him frantically.

Gibbs blinks. What?

"Puppies are _friends_! They're loyal and kind and sweet and they don't judge you. They _love_ you! No matter what." Abby's face crumples as the tears finally break free. "It hurts when puppies hurt, Gibbs. But _this_? It's so much more!" She folds her hands over her chest and her breath hitches again. "It _hurts _Gibbs. I can't–"

She is beginning to hyperventilate. Gibbs snags her hand and holds it against his own chest and starts taking exaggerated breaths. "Concentrate on your breathing. Match me Abby." Inahle. Exhale. Inhale. "That's it, Abbs. Good girl." Exhale. Inhale.

Abby hiccups. "I don't want Timmy to die."

Gibbs pulls her close and wraps his arms around her. As much as he wants to, he can't promise her Tim won't.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital when Ducky offered, Abby?"

"Tim doesn't get hurt, Gibbs. Not like this. I couldn't see it. I didn't want to make it _real_."

"That's a dangerous game, Abbs. You may think you're doing yourself a favor by not seeing McGee, but by not seeing him your mind is going to the wrong places."

"It already is! We were supposed to go to dinner last night! We had planned it all out already, but I backed off at the last minute because I wanted to go dancing instead. I told him there would be plenty of time to eat later, that he could come with me, but he wouldn't. Timmy doesn't like dancing. He said he wanted to take me somewhere nice so we could talk. I refused."

"_Abbs_…"

"But m-maybe…" Abby's chin wobbles. Her watery green eyes stare at the floor. "Maybe if I had just gone to dinner…"

"_Hey!_ Look at me!" He grabs her chin to make her. "You didn't do anything. You hear me?" A shaky nod. Not good enough. He squeezes her shoulder and stares into her eyes. "This was not your fault, Abby. Okay?"

Instead of answering, Abby just presses back into his embrace and shoves her face against his neck and cries.

He lets her have her moment. No longer, though. He needs to get down to business.

"Abby." Gibbs pulls away. "You need to tell me. Honestly. Can you do this?"

"For Timmy." Abby nods and scrubs away her tears. "I will for Timmy."

"Okay." He'll have to keep a closer eye on her, just in case, but he believes her. "Now, let's get back on track. You said you saw McGee Saturday night? What time?"

"We met at his apartment at 4PM. We hung out and dinner was supposed to be at 5PM, but since I didn't go…" Abby sniffles, but she doesn't allow any more tears. "I left his apartment quarter til'. He didn't say what he would do, or even if he would still be going to dinner, but, then again, I didn't really stick around long enough for him to tell me."

"Where were you supposed to go to dinner?"

"There's this hole-in-the-wall diner not far from his apartment. We were going to walk."

Good. They can track McGee's movements. _Finally._

Abby wrings her hands nervously. "Does that help?"

"Yes." Gibbs kisses her cheek. "All right Abbs. What about the rest of the evidence?"

Abby nods and turns back to her computer, throwing up more images on the plasma. "All blood samples are a match to Timmy. Foreign matter from the alley, bits of trash… Nothing significant there. His scarf, however," the black fabric hits the screen, "has a significant rip." Abby snaps on a pair of gloves and grabs the item to show him, fingering the frayed bits. "It looks like it was cut."

Gibbs leans in close. "A knife?"

"Maybe. It's hard to tell. Considering it's wool, it'd by my best guess though. This kind of fabric doesn't rip easy, and it kind of looks like someone was really hacking away at it."

No knife wound on McGee though. And the only bruise around his neck was a handprint, so he might not have even been wearing it.

"What about the bullet?"

"Marks on the bullet match the same model SIG Timmy uses."

"Alright. What else?"

"I haven't started on what Tony and Ziva found at his apartment, and I still haven't gone up to check his computer."

Gibbs looks around the lab, eyeing the boxes upon boxes of evidence. Most of it was stacked up on the two metal tables in the back, but some of it had spilled onto the floor. It probably wasn't all McGee's, there were other cases after all, but it was all waiting for Abby to be processed.

Great.

"Abbs, you need to let FBI process some of this."

"_Gibbs!_" Abby looks appropriately appalled at the very idea. "I can do this! I told you! I had a momentary break down, but it's not going to happen again, I promise!"

It pains him. Honestly, it does. He doesn't trust anyone else to handle evidence, but this was too much for one person and, if Abby kept giving the lab rat over at the Hoover Building attitude like Fornell said she was, soon both directors would be getting involved.

Gibbs compromises. "Anything you think is significant, you process yourself. But you can't do it all Abbs."

Abby frowns, worrying her bottom lip. "Nothing important?"

"Just enough to lessen your workload and get FBI off our backs."

"Fine. But everything goes through me first! I disseminate!"

Good. That clears that.

Gibbs takes a breath to comment, ask about more evidence, when his phone rings.

_Tony. _

Steel blue eyes flash. Even Abby looks worried when she peeks over his shoulder and reads the caller ID.

"Yeah. Gibbs."

"Boss," Tony's voice is tinny over the line. "They just did some tests."

"Yeah?"

"The swelling hasn't gone down."

Gibbs sighs and pinches his nose, unable to say anything to that. Abby, her face pressed close to Gibbs' so she could hear as well, lets out a tiny whimper, so Gibbs squeezes her in a side-hug.

Tony says, "They're going to run more tests and they might have to operate again."

"When?"

"They want to wait, monitor the swelling a bit more to see if it goes down. They don't want to put him under so soon after his first round of surgery, but they may not have a choice and… Boss… if he does go under again his chances aren't good…" Tony heaves a breath over the line. "I just wanted you to know."

"Make sure everything the doctors there tell you gets run by Ducky first. Have him explain everything, DiNozzo. This is going to be your decision, so I want you to make sure you're well informed. Okay?"

"Right, Boss."

"Call me if it happens. We'll be there."

Another buzz. His other line.

Fornell.

"Stand by Tony." Gibbs fumbles with his phone, trying to figure out how to put Tony on hold and pick up Fornell's call. Abby reaches around and does it for him and he presses the device back against his ear. "What is it Tobias?"

Fornell tells him, "We found the dog."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Jethro the dog is wet, dirty, and covered in blood, but he is alive.

He is stuffed inside a pipe that leaks murky water into a drainage ditch, snarling at the officers that try to approach. He bares blood-stained teeth and tries to launch himself at them, but is yanked violently back for his troubles, the other end of his leash tied tight to the metal grate behind effectively trapping him. Sewage water flies everywhere as he scrambles back up and shakes, howling despair.

Gibbs impatiently shoves back the huddled mass of bodies surrounding the mouth of the pipe and approaches the Shepherd slowly. Jethro snuffles at his approach, cocking a head to the side. The second those big brown eyes recognize Gibbs, Jethro lets out another stream of barks and starts hopping around excitedly. Grimacing as Jethro's snout knocks hard against his chin, Gibbs worms past and unsheathes his knife to slice the leash. Fast reflexes curl his fingers around the dog's still-attached collar before Jethro can bolt, his shoulder pulling painfully under the ninety-pound strain.

"Whoa! Heel!"

Jethro whines and tugs, but effectively heeds the command. He throws his head over his shoulder and barks at Gibbs.

Gibbs scoots by the dog and slowly leads him out of the drainage pipe. The crowd of officers part like the Red Sea, casting weary glances as the large dog swivels his head around and begins to snarl again. Gibbs tugs his leash to keep him moving and they climb the incline to get back up onto the beaten path of Rock Creek Park.

Ziva, eyes bright at the sight of the dog, shoves Fornell aside in her stride to get to them. Jethro barks happily, tears himself from Gibbs' hold, and leaps at her. Bracing herself for the impact, Ziva manages to keep herself standing as Jethro's large paws land on her shoulders and his pink tongue attacks her face with slobbery wet kisses. She unabashedly throws her arms around his wet, muddy body to give him a hug, the relief of Jethro being alive trumping any face-saving she might've attempted had the circumstances been different.

Fornell glares as the dog bounces down and circles Ziva and Gibbs' legs. "Damned mutt wouldn't let anybody else near him." When he gets too close, Jethro takes a defensive position in front of the NCIS agents and barks angrily, snapping his teeth, causing Fornell to stumble back a few steps.

Gibbs chuckles and pats the dog on the head, but his hand whips back quickly as Jethro yips a sharp yelp of pain. Frowning, he drops to a knee and starts running his hands over the dog's dirty, coarse fur. When his hands ghost over the right side of the dog's head, Jethro yelps again and rears back, shaking his head.

As Gibbs works on soothing the whining dog, Ziva gently brushes back the fur just above Jethro's right eye to reveal a red streak with dried blood surrounding it. Her eyes narrow.

Gibbs' wordless stare spins his old friend on his heels. Fornell leans over the wooden railing to where the other FBI agents are finally starting to make their way back out of the drainage ditch. A sharp orders to search for a bullet and gun whirls them back down. A chorus of "Yes, sir!" follow a round of splashing as the agents get to work.

Ziva twitches where she sits on her haunches, obviously conflicted as to whether she should look for the evidence or stay with Jethro. A firm hand planted on a furry head makes it obvious where she wants to be, so Gibbs orders her to stay with the dog while he straightens, cracking his stiff back as he comes up into a standing position.

"You interview the jogger yet?"

"Metro did the initial." Fornell jabs a thumb over his shoulder to where a uniformed Metro officer is standing next to a black haired man dressed in running gear. "I heard your tires start burning rubber before you even hung up on me, figured you wouldn't be too far behind, so I asked them to hold off for a bit."

Gibbs grins his thanks and pats his old friend's shoulder as he leads the way over, nodding the Metro officer away.

The jogger narrows green eyes at the both of them, scanning their suits suspiciously. "You guys work for PETA or something? I already told the cop, the dog was bloody when I found him." Two federal agency badges flash and the jogger's eyes widen to dinner plates. He holds his hands up in surrender. "Whoa! Seriously man, I didn't do anything!"

Fornell peers at his notepad. "Jeff, right?" A nod. "Okay Jeff, tell us how you came across the dog."

"I had to take a leak," Jeff says as a dust of red coats his cheeks. "I went down there, saw some red gunk in the water and figured it was a dead deer or something, then heard the barks and saw the mutt. I tried to get close enough to read the collar, you know, so I could call the owners, but he nearly bit my hand off. When I called Animal Control they asked me what kind of dog and when I told them German Shepherd they patched me through to Metro and they made me wait here."

"That's it?"

Jeff nods as he leans to one side and eyes all the suit-clad agents. "Are these guys all FBI? What happened? This dog famous or something?" He turns back to them and he grins at the prospect. "Is there a reward for finding it?"

"Hey!" Gibbs' fingers snap in his face sharply to regain attention. "Pay attention! Did you see anybody else around when you got here?"

"Like, what? Another jogger?"

"Or anybody else."

"Nah, but, you know, this is a pretty shaded area – trees _everywhere_, great for blocking the rain when the weather's bad but sucky on the vis – so I probably wouldn't have seen a thing anyway. Didn't hear anything either, before you ask. Aside from you suits, I've been the only person on this particular trail."

"What time you get here?" Fornell asks.

"My usual summer schedule, 7 AM. Probably got to this point maybe fifteen after though."

"And nobody else was around?"

"On _this _trail. There's tons of trails around this park. Think I saw maybe three or four other cars in the lot when I got here, but that's not even a good estimate of people since I know a ton of people walk here from home."

Gibbs shakes his head angrily and stalks off. Guy didn't know anything. Hope was riding on the possibility of a gun dump at the scene. Gibbs peers into the drainage ditch and watches the FBI agents scramble around.

"Gibbs!"

Ziva. And Jethro. She's holding onto the Shepherd's collar in two tight-fisted grips, trying to keep him from bolting. Jethro is whining. He's obviously strong enough to break free of Ziva's grip, but he doesn't. Probably doesn't want to hurt her. McGee had trained the beast well.

"What happened?" Gibbs asks, striding over to help.

"I was attempting to calm him, but he became agitated."

Jethro tugs some more. His snout hits the ground and his head swivels from the left to right, then he lifts up and barks three times in quick succession before lowering again.

Gibbs grins. "Let him go! He's got something."

As soon as her grip loosens, Jethro bounds forward and tears off down the trail. Gibbs and Ziva sprint after him, no match for the dog's speed and grace but more than making up for it in their sheer determination to keep up. Jethro, barking his head off, tosses his head back frequently to make sure they are not far behind.

Jethro leads them a fair ways down the trail, then breaks off into the forest. He leaps fallen tree trunks and branches. Then, suddenly, he slows, and his snout lowers back to the dirt. He paces back and forth, tail wagging, circles, and then drops his rump and barks.

Breathing heavily, Gibbs snaps his hand out to keep Ziva from going to the dog. She gives him a look, and Gibbs inclines his head.

A bullet. Nestled in the grass like a fallen baby bird.

Ziva pulls a small Maglite from her pocket and shines it across the dirt. "Footprints," she breathes. "Tread is similar to the markings found on McGee's wrist." She spots a dark patch as well. "Blood?"

Jethro barks again, tail thumping loudly against the ground.

Gibbs steps carefully around the evidence. He frowns.

"What is it?"

"Handprint. Large. Most likely a man's. More blood too."

"McGee?"

Gibbs' ghosts his own hand over the top of the mark, trying to remember if McGee's hand is larger or smaller than his own. When he gets close enough, Jethro nudges his hand and whines. His gut clenches. It's not enough to be certain, but Gibbs trusts his gut.

Ziva notices his look. "Gibbs?"

One, sure nod. "It's McGee." Jethro nudges him again, and Gibbs pats his head fondly, careful of the graze. "Good job. Good dog." His namesake simply licks his cheek and whines. "I know, boy. We're going to catch the bastard that did this. Promise." When Jethro just whines again, Gibbs turns back to his agent. "He hurt anywhere else?"

"Not that I could see. I shall take him to autopsy when we get back to the Yard, I believe Palmer was a veterinary assistant once."

Gibbs' mouth opens to reply, but he's cut off at the sounds of pounding footsteps rushing through the thick brush. His hand brushes his SIG, but falls away when Fornell stumbles into view, panting heavily and sweating. Gibbs raises a brow.

"Sweet Lady Justice, Jethro!" The dog barks and Fornell blinks at the Shepherd for a moment before realization dawns and he glares darkly at the dog, annoyed. "Twenty FBI agents and you couldn't tell _at least_ one of us where you were going? We lost you soon as you wandered off the trail."

Ziva smiles sweetly. "Perhaps you all should have been faster."

"Got evidence, Tobias," Gibbs interrupts, stopping that argument before it can even start, gesturing to the marks on the ground. "Doesn't look fresh, but I want a couple of your agents scoping the grounds." He turns to Ziva. "Head back to the sedan and grab the kit."

Ziva nods and jogs off.

As Fornell finishes his call, ordering FBI agents to scan the park, he turns back and inspects the surroundings. Fists plant on his hips. "Scuito can't do it all Jethro." Another bark from the namesake, but this time Fornell doesn't let it deter him. "My lab can process this scene."

"No." Gibbs shakes his head as he straightens to stand up. "You get the rest of the park. We get this."

"My director–"

"I don't give a damn about your director!"

Jethro barks. He rises up on his haunches and snarls at Fornell, his ears flattening against his head. As Fornell jumps back, startled, Gibbs places his hand on Jethro's head and the dog quickly settles.

"Not this, Tobias. This…" Gibbs gestures to the blood and the bullet and the handprint "This is _McGee_."

His probie. His agent. His kid.

_His._

Fornell heaves a breath, possibly to argue, then lets it out slowly, calmly. Finally he nods, sharp and succinct. He mutters something about damage control and says Gibbs is going to owe him a helluva lot after his is over, then steps away planting his cell phone back against his cheek.

Ziva returns, juggling two crime scene kits. She pulls out the yellow markers right away and quickly begins snapping photos. She pauses as she takes a picture of the blood next to the hand mark presumed to be McGee's. Gibbs touches her shoulder lightly to get her going again. She gives him a tight smile, wipes a hand across her face, then continues on.

Even with Fornell's assistance, it takes a bit longer to process the scene. Two teammates missing creates a hole that is sorely felt by the remaining MCRT members. Even Jethro notices. He sits like a sentry just out of the way, eyes following their movements, a whine emitting every now and again. Much as they want to give him water and attention, there is a greater need to preserve the evidence coating his fur and teeth.

Heading back to the Navy Yard they bypass the usual parking spot for the government-issued vehicles and pull into the evidence garage. The moment Gibbs steps out of the sedan Abby tackles him in a hug.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Abby says, squeezing the life out of him. "I don't like people in my lab, but this is so worth it!"

"Abbs?"

"That FBI lab tech. You sent him right? At first I thought he was going to take McGee's evidence so I grabbed a bat to defend it, but he told me he was sent TDY to work on the evidence for the _other _cases."

Gibbs' brows go up, then furrow back down as he realizes. He smirks, whispers into Abby's ear, and then watches as Abby hops off him, dashes around to the passenger's side of the sedan, and pounces on Fornell. The only thing that keeps the bewildered-looking FBI agent from hitting the ground is the quick reflexes of Ziva, who manages to whip out an arm to steady their skewed balance.

"Abby," Ziva says slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "I believe Agent Fornell needs to breathe."

Fornell does indeed need to. The moment Abby lets him go he gasps, coughing as sweet oxygen once again makes its way back to his lungs. He sends a scathing look Gibb's way and opens his mouth to voice his displeasure, but is cut off by an exclamation.

"_Jethro!_"

Abby makes to lather him in hugs and kisses, but stops at the last possible moment. Jethro's eyes look up at her from where he's lying despondently across the back seat. The poor dog whines at the sight of her and makes no move to respond to her happy greeting.

"He is sad," Ziva says, reaching out to pat the dog's head. "He knows that his master was hurt."

"There's blood. Was Jethro hurt?"

"Not all of this blood is his. He does, however, have a graze mark on the right side of his head. It does not look too bad, so I do not believe he needs to go to a vet, but I would like Palmer to look him over."

"Okay, I'll–"

Gibbs interrupts, "_Ziva_, take the dog to autopsy and help Palmer collect the evidence. Let me know what you find." Ziva nods and, with a click of her tongue, gently coaxes Jethro out of the car and toward the back elevators. When Abby moves to follow, Gibbs stops her. "I need you to start working on what Ziva and I found at the scene."

"But, Gibbs…"

"Abbs, you told me you could do this."

"I can! I promise!"

Abby scrambles to the back of the sedan to where the evidence sits. She signs a clipboard with a chain of custody form, balances two cardboard boxes, and heads back up to her lab, a determined look on her face.

Gibbs sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Fornell gives him a look.

"This is too personal, Jethro."

"Didn't stop you from getting that TDY here."

Fornell simply shrugs. "Now what are you going to do?"

Tony's voice rings in his ears.

"_The swelling hasn't gone down… They don't want to put him under so soon after the first round of surgery, but they may not have a choice and… Boss… if he does go under again, his chances aren't good…"_

"Hospital," Gibbs finally says, "I need to be with my agents."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Gibbs watches the green line of the heart monitor pulse with each recording beat. The steady rhythm quells the ache in his own chest. He exhales, closes his eyes, and lets the soothing beeps wash over him.

Then someone snuffles. His eyes pop back open, then slide to the right.

Tony lays sprawled out on a chair pushed close to the hospital bed, his head tossed over the straight-back of the chair and feet sprawled out before him. He smacks his lips in sleep and snorts, mouth dropping open to emit a dribble of drool that slides down off the right side of his chin.

Gibbs looks to McGee and shoots his comatose agent an exasperated expression.

Tony had been dead on his feet when Gibbs arrived over an hour ago. He was wound as tight as a coil ready to spring, pacing the small hospital room like a caged lion. A head-slap had been warranted, but Gibbs kept it at bay and instead attempted to shove his agent out the door for a much-needed break. The argument that had followed was not a surprise; though the vehemence was a tad unexpected.

Loyalty was a commendable trait. When you tack on stubbornness, however, it's a migraine waiting to happen.

(Not that Gibbs himself has any say on the matter. He wears those qualities like a badge of honor.)

Tony had not wanted to leave. McGee had been through the wringer of test after test after test, and this next result would determine whether or not a decision needed to be made for another surgery. _Tony's_ decision. Ducky had excused himself to consult earlier test results and Tony had been left to himself to ponder possible conclusions of his future actions. That, of course, let his imagination run wild leaving no possible happy outcome.

So, getting him to leave was a losing battle Gibbs quickly realized he was on the wrong side of. Therefore, Gibbs changed tactics.

He let Tony talk.

Well…_ramble_, really, and babble and jabber and prattle, and all other synonyms of the word. It was a DiNozzo art form after all (right behind obscure movie trivia and ace investigating). Tony spun words like a musician composed a masterpiece. Maybe the first draft didn't make sense, but the finale was something you absolutely had to hold out for.

And what a finale it was. Gibbs had just about dislocated a shoulder jumping to catch Tony before he could fall flat on his face.

"Me medical proxy? What a joke."

Gibbs had frowned at that. He gave Tony a gentle head-slap (too hard and it would wake him up, undoing all effort to get him to sleep) and told him: "McGee knows you have his six, DiNozzo, that's all there is to it."

The answering sound of sawing wood made it unsure if Tony had heard him, but by the subtle relax of his shoulders it was a good betting he probably did.

Gibbs sighs as he drags his gaze back to Tony.

Less than twenty-four hours and already the team was run ragged. Definitely not one of his better moments as senior agent. He is genuinely surprised Vance has yet to say anything more about it.

A soft tap on the door and Ducky pokes his head in. As all that wander in do, he scans McGee's still-form first and foremost before sliding his gaze to the others in the room. Pushing further in, he gives Gibbs a small smile and nods to Tony's slumbering form.

"Had I been a betting man, Jethro, I would've wagered it would take more than even you to get young Anthony down."

"Conked out a half-hour ago."

"Yes, well, while I do not believe he is in as deep a sleep as is needed, I do think he has relaxed enough to let you take the watch."

Gibbs nods at that. Even unconscious his team is as sharp as ever. He knows even asleep Tony is calculating and evaluating every single sound in the room. One slight disturbance and he will be up like a rocket. Probably not conducive to quality sleep, but Gibbs has to take what he can get right now.

Ducky touches his shoulder. "I don't suppose I can get you to take a few moments as well?" The looks he receives answers that question instantly. Ducky nods, unsurprised. "Scans are still processing, but Dr. Turner will have the results very soon." His gaze shifts back to McGee. "It's been a very delicate process, Jethro."

Gibbs presses closer to the hospital bed. He brushes back an errant tuft of brown hair poking out from underneath the swath of bandages bulged against the right side of McGee's head. His gut churns.

"Was it really that close?"

"Jethro?"

"The bullet. Centimeters, the doctor said." Gibbs tosses his old friend a look over his shoulder, hand still cupped against McGee's bandaged head. "Did he really come that close?"

Ducky sucks in a breath. Hesitates. Inhales again.

"Yes. The doctor does not exaggerate, Jethro; it was that close. Had the bullet been a centimeter to the left the kill would've been instantaneous. Had the bullet been a centimeter to the right it would not have been able to travel around the skull in the matter it had."

Gibbs looks back down at McGee. He brushes back the tuft of hair again, circling his thumb gently over the thickest bunch of bandages that indicates the bullet's entry point.

"Did he feel it?"

"Jethro–"

"Did he feel it, Duck?"

Ducky sighs. "Only Timothy will know. He will to tell us if he wakes."

"_When _he wakes."

The quiet, firm correction draws attention away from McGee.

Tony's head is still tossed over the straight-back of the chair, but Gibbs can see the agent's open eyes shine against the fluorescent lights of the hospital room. Tony swipes a sleeve across his face and swings his feet back onto the ground with a heavy 'plunk'. Bloodshot green eyes stare back at them.

"Anthony," Ducky says with a frown, "I do wish you would sleep a bit longer."

"I'm fine."

Bull shit, but Gibbs doesn't call him out on it. Instead, he twists and snatches up the white paper sack he'd come in with an hour before and drops it onto Tony's lap. It's bound to be cold now, but…

A small smile uplifts Tony's tense features as he finds a foil-bound sandwich hiding under a mound of complimentary napkins. The meatball sub is barely unwrapped before more than a quarter of it is shoved into his mouth, red sauce smearing the corners of his lips. Words of appreciation muffle behind a moan of delight.

Ducky shoots Gibbs a pleased smile.

Another knock on the door and all three heads swivel, two hands automatically hovering over holsters. An FBI agent may be guarding the door, but that doesn't mean they aren't on full alert. Even if it doesn't necessarily make sense for an intruder to knock before entering.

The white coat that strolls confidently in hardly seems surprised at their edginess. Probably used to protective families. He smiles at Ducky and Tony, who is on his feet now and is coughing around his last large bite, then eyes Gibbs warily. He looks like he wants to say something about the two-visitor-only policy, but shakes his head instead and sticks a hand out for Gibbs to shake.

"Dr. Hank Turner, neurologist. And you are…?"

Ducky steps up when Gibbs just stares blankly back at him. "This is Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He is Agent McGee's supervisor."

Dr. Turner's hand drops, a smile on his face, no offense taken. He flips open the cover of the gray clipboard he'd walked in with and his eyes flit across the paper-thin sheets he quickly flicks through.

"Lets cut to the chase then, shall we?"

Gibbs doesn't understand half the words coming out of the doctor's mouth as he explains results from tests previous and goes into details about tests that would take longer to get back. He talks about the blow to the head, the way McGee's brain shook in his skull, a force to the front and a hit to the back. Coup and countercoup. Focal brain injuries.

"Such a traumatic brain injury is detrimental by itself; but when it's combined with a bullet wound…"

Gibbs hands curl into tight fists.

A penetrating injury from a bullet has a mortality rate of 92-percent.

Centimeters, this doctor repeats the last. Mere centimeters. Very traumatic and very severe, but not completely hopeless. Signs of life, especially at this stage, is promising after all. The twenty-four hour mark is looming and that in itself is something to be celebrated.

The swelling has gone down. Not enough for anyone's comfort, but it has receded. It still needs to be monitored, of course, but surgery is not needed as of this moment.

Tony very nearly collapses in visible relief.

Dr. Turner snaps the clipboard shut. "We're still having some issues keeping his oxygen levels up, so the mask will have to remain on for the time being. I understand you all had a bit of a scare earlier this morning?"

That was putting it lightly.

"So… That's it? We wait?" Tony asks.

"For now that's all we can do."

With no further questions, Dr. Turner checks the machines surrounding McGee's bed before taking his leave with a nod. He tells them he is only a page away if anything further is needed.

As soon as the door swings shut Tony sucks in a deep breath. He presses a hand to McGee's limp one and shuts his eyes tight, brows furrowing in deep thought. After a bare moment passes, his eyes pop open and he huffs a shaky exhale. He nods, then snaps eyes right and meets Gibbs' eyes.

"Okay. Read me in, Boss."

Ducky's eyes widen to saucers. "Anthony, I hardly think now is the time for–"

"Now is the perfect time!You heard the doctor, Ducky, this is a waiting game now. I don't _want_ to leave, but I _have_ to. I _need _to. I'm not any use here. Tim would understand. Hell, he'd probably do the same damn thing. I want to catch the bastard that did this, and nobody's going to stop that. _Read me in!"_

Loyalty and stubbornness. Damn it all.

"We do this by the book. One foot out of line DiNozzo, I swear I'll head-slap you so hard you'll be feeling it even after your dead and gone. Got me?"

Tony stares, fiery determination in his eyes. "I got you, Boss."

First order of business is getting a new guard on McGee. The FBI agents have their schedule according to Fornell's standards, but Gibbs still wants at least one person in the room, a last order of defense. He calls up Vance asking for personnel and is immediately given a long list of names to choose from, special agents ranging from the cybercrimes sub-basement to the top floor counterintelligence unit.

"Volunteers – came to me as soon as they heard the news," Vance says, the hint of a smile visible even over the phone. "Seems Special Agent McGee is a might more popular than even he might expect."

He decides to have Vance send Special Agent Todd Mason – senior field agent to Special Agent Rob Dunn's crime team who worked in the bullpen about three partitions over from Gibbs' own team. A veteran agent, familiar face, and someone who had worked with the MCR team before, albeit infrequently.

Ducky frowns as he watches the shift change, still not very happy with the idea of Gibbs and Tony going back to work so soon without a break.

"We've gotten on with less sleep."

"That does not make it a healthy habit, Anthony." Ducky shakes his head with a sigh. "Alas, I know better than to argue when a battle is lost before it can even begin. I expect at least eight straight hours sometime soon. As much as we want, much like Rome, a case is not solved in a day."

This time when Gibbs nods, he truly means to acquiesce to Ducky's orders. He doesn't want to, he doesn't like it, but damn it all he knows sense when he hears it. His team could not keep this pace up and he would not run them any more ragged. Cases suffer with exhausted agents working the job. It would be a fight (with Tony especially), but he would make sure they got some adequate rest by the time this day was over.

Ducky tells them he will remain at the hospital for a bit longer. He wants to talk more in-depth with Dr. Turner about McGee's scans. Any changes and Ducky will phone them.

Back at headquarters they find Ziva in the bullpen working on the computer at her desk. When she sees them she immediately asks for news regarding their teammate. Her shoulders slump at the lack of significant progress, but she smiles at the news of reduced swelling indicating no immediate need for surgery.

Gibbs peers over her shoulder to get a look at what she is working on. Ziva types a few strokes on the keyboard and sends the picture to the plasma for easier viewing. It shows four different squares, all black and white, and all different angles of a parking lot. The current time stamp shows Saturday at five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Rock Creek Park. _Always _Rock Creek Park."

A head-slap and then a nod to Ziva.

"No sign of McGee yet, but the park only has cameras at the main entrance because that is where the car lot is. If you park you have to pay, but walk-in is free and unmonitored."

"What about the dog?"

"Lab. Palmer and Abby are extracting evidence off him as we speak. The bullet graze was a bit deeper than initially suspected and needed stitches. No vet, Palmer was able to do the stitches here, but it took a bit longer than we anticipated."

When they make their way down to the lab they see Jimmy and Abby have set Jethro up on one of the tables in the lab. They're dabbing cotton swabs along his matted fur and plucking fibers off with tweezers. At Tony's excited "McMutt!" they wrap gloved-hands around the excitable dog before the Shepherd can jump off to greet the senior field agent.

"Stand back, Tony!" Jimmy grunts as Jethro's tail smacks him in the face. "We're still processing!"

Tony skids to a halt. His hand twitches, obviously itching to pat the dog.

"What's the verdict Doc Gremlin? Boss said he got hit by a bullet."

"Yeah, uh, gave him a few stitches and cleaned it up. Someone will need to check the gauze every hour or so to make sure he doesn't get an infection but, uh– What's wrong, Tony?"

Gibbs turns. His senior field agent has a stunned expression on his face.

"The right side?"

"Yeah. Why? It's just a graze. He'll be okay."

"No, it's just… It's just like Tim."

Gibbs frowns. He hadn't made that connection.

By the look on everyone else's face, neither had they.

Tony's brow furrows. "I would've figured you'd pick up on that, Abby. Haven't you analyzed the photos of McGee yet?"

Abby bites her lip and shakes her head, offering no explanation.

This is going downhill fast. Gibbs steps in. "One thing at a time, Tony." He shoots Abby a look that tells her this will be discussed sooner rather than later. He's trusted her to be okay to run the evidence and he can still pull her from the case and let the FBI tech take over. As soon as she nods to indicate she understands he gives her a look for her to start presenting what they have.

"Jethro did a good job, Gibbs. You'd be proud of him. We've got blood on his teeth and fur and skin samples on his claws. He also took a big bite out of someone, drew a bunch of blood and more skin cells."

"I hope it hurt like hell."

Gibbs shoots Tony a look, but doesn't say anything. A head-slap isn't warranted when he agrees whole-heartedly.

"I'm running everything through the system, but it's going to take a while."

"Crime scene?"

Ziva steps in here. She moves to a computer not running a program and puts up the crime scene photos on the plasma. She scrolls through until she finds the image with the handprint.

"I managed to compare the size of the handprint and match it to the approximate length and width of McGee's." Another photo brings up a wider shot of the scene. "We also completed an analysis on the tread. It matches the shoes McGee was wearing." A few more strokes on the keyboard and a yellow marker 10 appears next to a tree with a dark substance.

"I-Is that blood? Is that _McGee_?"

"_DiNozzo._"

Tony turns to Gibbs, wide-eyed, and, after blinking at him a couple times, nods. He rubs a shaky hand at his mouth as he returns his attention to the screen.

Gibbs turns to Ziva and inclines his head for her to continue.

Ziva, after a moment's hesitation, does. "Blood is a positive match to McGee, Gibbs. It…" Ziva pauses and swallows, continuing in a shaky voice, "I found hair. Stuck to the bark. Also a match."

Jeezus.

Gibbs drags a tired hand down the length of his face. If the hair had been stuck to the bark that had to be quite a blow.

"Okay. All right. This is what we're going to do: Ziva, I want you back on the security footage for Rock Creek Park. Recruit some bodies from the subbasement if you need to. We need to track McGee's movements. Tony, I want you on files. Cases McGee was at the forefront first. I want to know if anybody we put away is getting out or got out recently. Palmer–"

"Uh, Agent Gibbs, s-sir?"

Everybody stops. They stare at Palmer.

"I was actually wondering if I could possibly go to the hospital. See Agent McGee maybe? I know Dr. Mallard has been there all day and I, uh, I haven't been by yet so…"

Gibbs arches a brow, then nods.

Palmer gives a massive grin and tears off for the elevator. He skids to a stop just before diving into the metal room as Gibb calls out to him one more time.

"FBI and the hospital did their workup, but I want you two to go over anything they might've missed."

"R-Right Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs turns to the other. "Abs?"

Abby's eyes flick away. "These samples can't run themselves Gibbs. I'll get these results to you as soon as I can."

Tony frowns. He takes a step forward to argue, but Gibbs holds his hand up and shakes his head. If Abby wants to avoid the hospital, there's nothing anyone can do about that. Tony glares daggers at the scientist's back before stomping away, back to the bullpen to work, Ziva hot on his heels.

"Abby…"

"Don't. Please, Gibbs? I just want to work."

He nods and leaves her in the lab. As the elevator's door closes he watches her throw her arms around Jethro and bury her face in his fur.

…

"What the hell is this shit?"

Gibbs leans out and spits the putrid-tasting liquid out on the ground.

Fornell smirks. "Decaf."

"Trying to poison me or something?"

"I'm not buying your regular sludge. It's midnight. Your medical examiner would have my head."

Gibbs nods, conceding to that point, even as he continues to swallow convulsively in attempt to get the taste off his tongue. He spits again, then replaces the tumbler in the holder and drags a sleeve across his mouth.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Whattaya got?"

"Surprise, surprise – no luck scouring the park. We were there all afternoon showing McGee's picture around. A few recognized him, said he was a regular, but they hadn't seen him for a while. I got a couple guys slated to go out there tomorrow morning to hit up that crowd, but I'm not expecting to find anything different."

Gibbs nods. "Ziva went through the security footage fifteen times. No sign of McGee or anyone suspicious-looking leaving the park."

"Still no hit on the BOLO either. You'd think a Porsche Boxster would be easier to find."

"Nah. Can't be that lucky."

"What about the rest of your lot?"

"Tony's not having any luck with the case files, but he's still looking. Calling around. Most of the blood Abby processed at the park matched for McGee. She's still running the skin samples through. Probably won't get a hit on that until tomorrow." A glance at his watch and a correction, "Today. Later this morning." He pushes a hand down the length of his face.

"You sure you don't want me to drop you off at home?"

"This is fine." Gibbs climbs out of the passenger's seat and closes the car door. He turns and leans through the open window to look back at Fornell. "I need more information on the barista who found him. I want to start making this trail."

"Right. Seven sharp?"

Gibbs nods. He pushes back and pats the top of Fornell's car before watching it drive away. Running another hand down his face, massaging his tired eyes, he takes a moment before turning on his heel to walk back into the NCIS building. He nods to the night guard that checks his ID and signs him in.

"They still up there Henry?"

"Yes, sir." As Gibbs heads to the elevator Henry calls him back. "Uh, Agent Gibbs? We're all real sorry to hear about Agent McGee. He's good people. Treats us all right. We'll be praying for him."

Gibbs nods his thanks and continues on.

The night lights have been switched on and only a few people are still working. The small desk lamps cast a soft glow across the bullpen. As Gibbs walks to his team's area he finds Tony sleeping at his desk, right cheek smashed against folded arms, and Ziva curled up like a cat on the floor behind her chair. He smiles as he drapes a discarded coat over Tony's shoulders and snags his spare pillow to place under Ziva's head.

A faint whine sounds and Jethro's head pops up from behind McGee's desk.

"Hey, boy, I see Abby cleaned you up real nice. You here looking for your master?" Gibbs kneels and ruffles the dog's fur. "Nah. You know what's going on, don't you? You did a good job attacking that bastard, you know. You did a good job defending. But, now it's our turn. We're going to get 'em, boy. I promise."

Jethro licks his face.

Gibbs pats the dog one last time before he straightens, cracking his aching back on the way up. Rubbing his neck, he looks around the bullpen to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything before he nods and heads for the bedroll he keeps under his desk. Much as he wants to sleep in a proper bed right now, he needs to be with his team.

Stretching out on the hard floor, Gibbs falls asleep behind his desk next to two of his three agents, his third agent's loyal Shepherd curled around his feet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Gibbs sweeps his eyes over the matte prints spread across one of the metal tables in autopsy. Impersonal crime scene photos highlight the scrapes and bruises marring his baby-faced agent. His fingers ghost a close-up image of McGee's temple, the bullet hole prominent against blood-matted hair. Gut clenching, he rubs his mouth in attempt to quell his emotions.

Feeling a sudden presence behind him, he turns. Vance presses a coffee cup into his hand. Gibbs nods his thanks and takes a long drag, savoring the caffeine. It's not nearly as strong as he usually takes it, but it still has that extra kick he likes.

Vance scans the tabletop. His face bares no emotion, but the slight tightening of his fist at his side indicates anger. Eyes flick from the images back to Gibbs again.

"You sleep at all?"

Gibbs hums around another sip of his coffee, shrugging a shoulder. He leans heavily against the autopsy table and massages fingers hard against a tense spot in his shoulder. The clock on the wall says 6:30 AM. He'd slept about four hours, longer than he'd thought, and had been working for the past two.

"Your team is passed out in the bullpen. Not happy they stayed, but I understand. I won't look over the fact DiNozzo was already starting to look ragged by the time I left last night, however. I don't want to have to remind you what I said about that."

When Gibbs doesn't answer, Vance sighs and inclines his head.

Gibbs jabs a thumb at one of the images: a hospital photo, before the bandages, of a distinctive red pattern on McGee's forehead. A shoe tread. It had been found at every crime scene – McGee's apartment, the alleyway, Rock Creek Park. It was even pointed out as the same tread on McGee's wrist. Ziva had claimed it to be nothing more than a regular pair of work boots, but something had sparked in Gibbs' gut the moment he'd seen it indented in the pale skin of his agent's bruised forehead.

This was the bastard who beat his agent, the bastard who scratched him and bruised him and stepped on him.

This was the bastard Gibbs wanted to _lynch_.

Vance levels a knowing look at him. "All this goes by the book, Gibbs, you hear me? None of your cowboy operations. If we're going to get this bastard, we do it so we can nail him to the cross without this asshole getting even a chance to fight it."

"Don't start questioning my methods now, Leon."

"They've always been questionable. Just make sure your actions are worth whatever consequences might come."

Gritting his teeth, Gibbs nods sharply. While he would not borrow trouble, he also would not let it stand in his way. His kid was hurt and he would make sure the person that hurt him paid.

"I have a meeting with SecNav later this afternoon. He's going to want answers."

Politics in the workplace Gibbs understood, but on this? McGee wasn't even shot in the line of duty.

"Didn't figure this warranted his concern."

"We have two government agencies working on the case of the mysterious shooting of a federal agent who happens to be the son of a highly-respected, highly-decorated Admiral. This is primetime. SecNav wants in the loop."

Gibbs slams his fist on the metal table. The resounding bang echoes loudly. "I won't have Jarvis messing up my investigation just because he's worried about some press backlash!"

Vance sighs. "You know how this game works, Gibbs. I'll do my best to fend off the wolves, but I have to throw them a bone every once in a while to get 'em to stop gnawing on our ankles. We're not getting any heat now, but keep it in the back of your mind. Don't do anything that might put you or your team any further under the microscope."

Letting out a groan of frustration, Gibbs bangs on the autopsy table again.

Vance checks his watch. "I need to get ready for the morning meeting. I'll check in with you later." He spins on his heel and heads for the door, but stops and turns back just as the automatic doors slide open to let him out. "Jackie and the kids send their regards. She and Kayla spent half the night baking blueberry muffins for everyone. Comfort food, they said."

Gibbs looks up, blinking. The tightening in his chest loosens slightly.

Seeing his confused expression, Vance smiles as he elaborates, "Kayla and Jared needed help with some homework a while back. He's their unofficial tutor. Showed them a few computer games as well. Smart guy with a gun and similar interests? He's pretty popular. Good with kids."

"I didn't know."

"Not exactly advertised. Just know we've got lots of people praying for Tim's recovery."

With a wave and last reminder to snatch up a snack cake or two before DiNozzo's vacuum of a stomach gets to them, Vance departs.

Alone, Gibbs shoves a hand through his hair, releasing a calming breath. He looks down once again at the images of his youngest, battered and beaten, and nods before picking up the prints and putting them back into the manila case file. Ducky would go over the photos, Abby would sort the tread.

Heading for the door, Gibbs jabs a few numbers into his phone then plants his cell against his face.

"You see McGee at all this morning?"

"And a good morning to you as well, Jethro. I trust you slept?"

"Duck. McGee?"

"Yes, well, I decided to pay a visit to young Timothy before coming into work and am just about to leave him in the very capable hands of Special Agent Wheaton." Balboa's senior field agent. Dependable and intelligent. Good. "Timothy is doing well, Jethro. He remained stable throughout the night."

Gibbs releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You look through FBI's findings?"

"Not as thoroughly as I would've liked. Timothy is still in a precarious position, the doctors are not yet comfortable with putting his body through too much strain, to which I heartily agree. Standard operating procedures were followed, however, and it seems that they took very careful care with our young friend."

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

"Yes, well, I'd still like to delve deeper."

"Got photos. McGee. Shots from the scene and the hospital. Makes my stomach twist just looking at 'em, but it shows marks and bruises that should prove useful. Left the file on your desk. Need Abby on this too."

"Say no more, Jethro, I completely understand. I will be with her the entire time during analysis."

"That's what I want to hear."

Gibbs snaps the phone shut and slides the device into his coat pocket. Looking around the little park just outside headquarters, he spots Fornell sitting on a bench near the coffee cart. He makes his way over and slides into the seat.

Fornell blinks at him. "You got coffee already."

Gibbs downs the cup, tosses it in a nearby trash bin, then snatches the one Fornell is holding out. Still not as strong. Kind of disappointing, since Fornell should know better.

"Whattaya got?"

"First off, no hit on the BOLO overnight. We're going to head back to McGee's and interview neighbors again, figure out when the last time they saw the vehicle was. Haven't been over, but I'm told it's gated, so it should have a security camera in the lot."

Gibbs shakes his head. "Looked yesterday. Cameras are fake."

"Of course. Okay, well, Rock Creek is the same song as yesterday: one or two recognized McGee's pic, said he was a regular, but hadn't seen him in a while. Got some agents combing through the area again." Fornell shoves a hand into his pants pocket and digs out a worn notepad, licking a thumb before flicking through the tattered sheets. "You wanted information on that barista? Susan Cole, twenty-three, goes to Montgomery College, and studying to be an accountant."

"Priors?"

"Clean as a whistle. David and DiNozzo talked to her already, you still wanting to again?"

"Maybe. Tell me her story again."

"Not much to it. Been working the night shift for the past three weeks, same routine every night, stepped out the door to take the trash out and slipped in the blood. Phoned into the switchboard about 9 PM."

"Builds a timeline, but we still got nothing."

"Not shooting with a lot of ammunition here."

"Been too reactive. Sloppy. I need to straighten my game."

"Considering the circumstances, it's understandable."

"Don't make it right." Gibbs hides a frown behind a sip of coffee. "Leon tells me we're swimming in politics with McGee's father being who he is. Another needless hurdle to jump. You been getting any pushback from your director?"

"Not any more than usual when dealing with your motley crew. What's Pop's story? Thought the Badmiral wasn't so interested in keeping an eye on his pride and joy."

"He's not, far as I can see, but he's got friends in high places and Jarvis wants to cover his ass."

Fornell nods knowingly. "I gotcha. Little guy with big friends pushes it up, then the shit rolls right back down the hill. Gotta love politics."

"Would be worth checking out. Under the radar, of course."

"Hey, I thought this was fixin' to be a warning! I don't want to know this!"

"My top tech guy is comatose and Abby is up to her ears in evidence, I may need you to start pulling FBI resources."

Fornell points a finger in his face. "Asshole may be a bad father, but you gotta think long and hard before you start sticking your nose in a highly-decorated Admiral's personnel file when you got nothing but a gut feeling warranting a peek." Gibbs shoves his hand away and Fornell sighs, checking his watch. "I need to get back to the Hoover Building. You call me when you got something. Not a request, Jethro."

"Never is, Tobias."

Gibbs grabs a refill of coffee from the nearby cart before heading back inside. When he gets to the bullpen he sees Tony and Ziva are awake and already working, faces pressed close to their computer screens. Jethro the dog sits like a sentry between their desks, head up and ears perked, growling at any unfamiliar agent that comes near.

"Home," Gibbs tells them. "Shower, fresh clothes, and food. No arguments."

"Boss!" Tony yells at the same time as Ziva's, "Gibbs!"

"_No arguments."_ Gibbs glares at them both, eyes lingering on Tony because he looks worse for the wear. "McGee does not need us running ourselves into the ground. You freshen up at home and you come back. And I mean _home_, not the hospital. Two hours, and not a second less or I'm benching you."

Ziva snatches her bag and bypasses the elevator, sprinting for the stairs instead. Probably thinks the faster she gets home, the faster she can come back to work.

Tony lingers, sitting at his desk and glaring. Gibbs presses fists against his senior field agent's desk and leans close so that their faces nearly touch. Tony huffs a breath out his nostrils like an angry bull, then shoves to his feet and strides out without a word.

Cracking his neck, Gibbs swipes up his coffee and straightens. When he looks up he sees Vance leaning over the balcony watching him. The director gives him a curt nod, then pushes back from the railing and disappears behind the MTAC doors.

Gibbs looks down at Jethro and tilts his head before leading the way to the elevators. When he steps off on Abby's floor soft jazz floats through the air.

"Abs?"

She's at her computer terminal, staring unblinking at the two screens showing multiple images flashing through a program. Jethro's paws skitter across the tile floor as he slinks up to her, nudging her knees with his snout. Abby smiles down at him, kneels, and hugs his neck.

Gibbs arches a brow.

"McGee music. I thought it might help."

"You stay the night, Abs?"

"I was going to. I forgot my night bag in my car and Director Vance caught me bringing it up while he was leaving. He made me go home, said he'd enforce the dress codes if I didn't, so I left when he left. Really, I circled the block to make him think I was gone. When I came back Henry wouldn't sign me in because he was under orders not to let me back until the sun came up. I was going to fight, but Henry says Vance threatened his job."

Dramatic, but Vance knew how to get a job done. Gibbs approved.

"You sleep at all?"

Pushing to her feet, one hand resting on Jethro's head, Abby shrugs. "Did you bring me a Caf-Pow?"

"Was gunna send you home."

"Gibbs!"

"You sleep last night?" When Abby bites her lip before opening her mouth to answer, Gibbs shakes his head and says, "Honestly."

Abby sighs. "Few hours. Enough. I'm not tired."

Gibbs stares at her a long moment before conceding with a nod. "Okay. Tell me what you got then."

"Still running that skin sample. I need to expand my database. Need something to compare it to. Do we have suspects?"

"Still working on that, Abs. You got his phone?"

Abby nods, bringing that up on her computer, scrolling through the spreadsheet. "Incoming and outgoing numbers coming out of the building, a few from each one of us, and another I cross-referenced to a internet provider Timmy uses. Text messages from us as well, a few to Sarah, but not much else."

"Fornell says switchboard got the call at 9 PM, what was the activity at that time?"

Abby pecks the keyboard, then cocks her head. "Hinky. It's off."

"Signal drop?"

"Possible, but unlikely. The last ping is at his apartment, 5 PM, just a few minutes after I left." Abby frowns. "Why would he do that?"

Gibbs sips his coffee, mulling that over. It was quite possible McGee didn't turn his phone off on purpose, maybe it powered down by itself. The kid used the phone all day and night at work and Gibbs had never seen it plugged-in before. How long did those batteries last? Of course, it was also possible someone had turned the phone off for him.

"You get any prints on the phone, Abs?"

"Aside from Tim? A few partials matching Tony."

Gibbs drags a hand down the length of his face. "Okay. What else?"

Abby gestures to a laptop. "I'm not finding anything on his work computer, but his personal laptop is hinky. MGee's a private guy, and I get that, but he's got some pretty hardcore firewalls. I'm still working my way through a few barriers."

"Send it down to Cyber Crimes. You got enough evidence to deal with."

Abby bites her lip, obviously wanting to argue, but nods without saying anything. She goes back to her work station and pulls up a picture of a bullet. "The bullet you and Ziva found at Rock Creek Park matches Timmy's SIG. Same gun that shot Timmy."

Gibbs sucks in a breath to respond, but stops at the sound of the elevator. He turns to see Ducky walking in, case file in hand. Abby's brows furrow.

"Duck, excellent timing." Gibbs grabs the file and flicks through the photos, pulling out the one he wants. "Part of a shoe tread. I want to know who it belongs to." When he looks up to gauge reactions he notices Abby is about three shades paler than normal. He sighs. "Abs, I can't keep asking you if you can handle this."

Abby swipes Bert from his perch on a nearby shelf and hugs him tight to her chest. The stuffed hippo emits its trademark sound. "I'll be fine, Gibbs." She turns to her computer and brings up the electronic copies of the photos. She brings up the forehead image. "Where else?"

Ducky flips through the file. "Right wrist and left shoulder."

Sliding around her desk, Gibbs peers up at the magnified image on the plasma. He watches as Abby crops the indentation and maneuvers the pieces around to create a larger shoeprint.

Ducky points a finger at a particularly interesting part of the marking. "This looks to be the beginnings of a word."

A few more types on the keyboard and Abby cleans the half-image. She tilts her head, leaning in and narrowing her eyes. "Lowa?" Bringing up another page, she types it in. "Hiking boot, top of the line with focus on performance needs of professional trekkers and mountaineers."

"Expensive?"

"About 400-dollars." A few more pecks at the keyboard. "Lowest, on sale, ranges to about 200-dollars though."

"Pretty pricey for the average hiker," Ducky notes. "By the size I'd say probably a man's shoe. Large. Looks up to a size fifteen. Men occasionally have to get those custom-made because it is hard to find in stores."

Gibbs nods. "Custom-made, expensive hiking boots. I'll have Ziva run with it. You two keep checking images, I want an analysis on this guy." He leans over and presses a kiss to Abby's cheek. "You call me if anything else comes up."

…

Two hours on the dot, Tony and Ziva are breezing back into the bullpen. Gibbs looks up from where he's got his face buried in his computer and snatches his gear before getting to his feet. He brushes by them, snagging Tony's arm on the way to the elevator.

"DiNozzo, with me. Ziva, I want you down in the lab helping Ducky and Abby with evidence."

Ziva opens her mouth to protest, but a glare from Gibbs shuts her down and she nods sharply, heading for the elevator on the opposite wall.

As soon as they get in the elevator, Gibbs pulls the emergency stop, shrouding him and his senior field agent in darkness.

"Tell me about McGee's father."

Tony's eyes bulge. "Boss?"

Despite what he had said earlier to Fornell, Gibbs hadn't wanted to pry, honestly, but he needed to immerse himself in details to figure out the whole picture. There wasn't much to go off and the lack of a lead was frustrating.

"Boss, Tim wouldn't want–"

"Rule 18."

Tony's shoulders slump. He fiddles with the straps on his backpack. Hesitation is still there, even with one of Gibbs' rules.

"DiNozzo, Admiral McGee has a reputation for talking himself out of trouble. Nothing big that my contacts have found but that doesn't mean he's not hiding something. I want to know if it's possible McGee was shot because of something his father did."

Tony shakes his head. "They're estranged, Boss."

"Why?"

"_Boss_," Tony stresses. "I promised I wouldn't. It doesn't have anything to do with case, trust me."

Gibbs doesn't know whether to be proud of the loyalty or frustrated. Looking in Tony's eyes, seeing the corner he's back his senior field agent in, he decides the former will do for now. Gibbs hits the emergency stop again and the elevator lurches, creeks, then continues its descent.

"Where are we going?" Tony asks as he slides into the passenger seat of one of the agency sedans.

"Silver Spring. We have five hours unaccounted and I want to know where McGee was. We'll start at the beginning, try to retrace his steps. What do you know about McGee's neighborhood?"

"Ah, I've been around a few times. We started running together when he was first starting to get fit."

"He got a regular route?"

"For running? No. He likes to change it up so he doesn't get bored. There's a coffee place he frequents though."

The coffee shop is a hole-in-the-wall a couple streets down from McGee's apartment building. It's small on the inside, not a big selection on the menu, but roomy with evenly-spaced tables. There's a couple people working on laptops here and there, but it's mostly empty. An older guy with his hair in spikes, a chain necklace, and dark eye make-up is working behind the counter.

"NCIS." Gibbs flashes his badge, indicates himself and Tony. "Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo."

"Navy cops." The barista, who's nametag says 'Scott', nods. "You guys want coffee? I got an extra dark roast."

Tony rolls his eyes and holds out a picture. "You know this guy?"

"Oh, yeah, that's Tim. He helps me with my poetry sometimes." Scott's pierced brow rises. "He's not in trouble, is he? I haven't known him long, but he seemed like a genuinely nice guy."

"Just looking for some information," Gibbs says, "When was the last time you saw Tim?"

"Uh… What's today? Monday? I saw him Saturday afternoon, near the end of my shift so it had to be around 5 PM."

"He stay?"

"Nah. His dog was with him and had to stay tied up outside and you can't leave a pet unattended around here."

"He seem suspicious to you?"

"Ah, not really… He talked to some freaky looking guy in a suit though. I think they were arguing because Tim stormed out and his dog started going all crazy."

Tony jumps on that, writing the details in a notepad. "This guy, what'd he look like? Define freaky."

"Bald, British accent… uh…" Scott looks down, embarrassed. "I shouldn't have said freaky, that's kinda rude, but he had a patch over his left eye and I think it was missing…"

Tony's head snaps up at that, his eyes wide.

"Kort."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the wait! I can throw out excuses but I don't want to bore you with the details of my life. Thank you all so much for the reviews on my last chapter though. To break that coveted 100-mark is always an honor. I hope you all are enjoying the mystery. Writing a case file fic is incredibly difficult, but I'm learning a lot for when I start my second story. Please be continuously aware that creative liberty is being applied because of lack of medical and legal knowledge. If anyone spots anything that needs corrected, just leave a review or PM!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

They crowd around an old television set in the back room of the coffee house. Tony jabs the fast-forward button and leans close, stopping the tape every now and again to make sure he hasn't gone too far. When the blinking white numbers in the corner of the screen get closer to 5 PM Gibbs stops him, yanking him by the back collar when he starts to obstruct his view.

A few minutes pass before an exhalation and finger point from Tony indicates activity. Gibbs narrows his eyes at the tiny screen, wishing he'd brought his glasses. The picture is grainy and there is no sound, but at least it's something.

McGee is difficult to make out behind the glass doors of the coffee house, but the two men who have worked with him for the past nine years distinguish his form easily. They watch him tie Jethro the dog's leash to a nearby post, make a motion with his hand that has the Shepherd dropping his rump to the ground, then enter the tiny shop after a pat to his faithful dog's head. He stands in a line that's three people long and fiddles with his phone.

It takes almost twelve minutes for McGee to make it to the front of the line. He smiles to Scott, who is behind the counter, and their body language indicates an exchange in pleasantries. The conversation doesn't last long though, and soon McGee is sliding his way over to the pick-up counter to wait for his order. He takes out his phone and fiddles with it again. Another minute or two passes before McGee's head pops up and a large coffee tumbler is pressed into his hand.

Then Kort shows up.

Gibbs' hands curl into fists as he watches the CIA agent breeze into the coffee shop and make a beeline for McGee, snatching his arm and pulling him to the side before McGee even knows what hits him. The corner they're dragged to keeps Kort's face out of the line of vision, but McGee's surprise is clear. They remain there for about ten minutes, Kort's grip never leaves McGee's bicep and he keeps pressing closer and closer.

Tony leans in and Gibbs yanks him back once again. "Trying to look for a gun or knife, Boss." But there isn't one, surely the other patrons would have noticed, then suddenly Kort's other hand comes up, no weapon, and his grip shifts to the lapels of McGee's pea coat. Tony mutters a curse under his breath when the movement causes McGee to wince.

McGee's expression of surprise changes to one of anger then. He pushes Kort's hands away and shoves past him, roughly bumping shoulders as he heads for the door. Kort is quick on his heels. Outside, Jethro is barking, loudly if the turned heads of the few shop patrons is any indication. When McGee gets him loose Jethro leaps for Kort, who stumbles back, but McGee jerks his leash before the Shepherd can make contact. Kort ducks the dog and grabs for McGee's arm once more, spinning him around. McGee shakes his head once, sharply, yanks his arm back and heads north. Kort watches him a moment before turning south.

The tape continues to play and, for a long moment, Gibbs and Tony can do nothing but glare daggers at the screen. When five minutes pass and nothing else significant happens on the screen, Tony finally leaps forward and punches the eject button. He's red in the face and breathing like a bull, clutching the tape so hard that it's a wonder it doesn't snap.

Gibbs spins on his heel and storms out of the coffee shop, ignoring Scott's questioning shouts. He punches numbers into his phone, plants his cell to his face, and waits impatiently for the caller to pick up on the other end. The first syllable of a jovial greeting barely breaths before Gibbs is snapping:

"What the _hell_ does CIA want with my agent?!"

…

Deputy Director Allen Gates is not amused by the last minute MTAC call from NCIS. When the call patches through he merely shoots the camera a fleeting glance before going back to business, directing the multiple aides who run around his office with papers and manila files waiting for him to sign or look over.

Vance plasters on his best politician's smile. "We appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk to us, Deputy Director." Gibbs scoffs and Vance shoots him a quick glare before focusing back on the feed. "Did your assistant brief you up on the situation?"

Gates eyes don't even look up from the file he is reading. "Only slightly, Director Vance." He passes the sheets to a waiting aide and waves another one over, signing the clipboard held out before moving on to the next one and taking the file from her.

"NCIS is requesting to be read-in on the situation that has lead Trent Kort to approach one of our agents, Special Agent Timothy McGee."

Gates hums acknowledgment as he continues to make his way down the line of aides.

"Deputy Director, as I said I understand you are a busy man, but time is crucial to our investigation."

Gates' face stays buried in his papers. "Uh… Kort, you say? Well, we'd be hard-pressed to hand out information such as this willy-nilly. I can assure you CIA has nothing to do with whatever mess NCIS has gotten themselves into."

Gibbs ignores Vance's warning glance and steps closer to the screen, hands balling into fists at his sides. "My agent was approached by Kort only four hours before he was found stuffed behind a dumpster in the back of an alleyway with a bullet in his head."

Gates' head snaps up at that. "Coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences."

Gates stares into the steel blue eyes Gibbs is glaring at him and presses his lips firmly together. A single wave of his hand drives all the aides out of his office leaving him alone. He clasps his hands together in front of him on his desk and looks down his nose at them. "Alright, you have my attention. Ask your question."

"I believe we already have." Vance's smile turns brittle as his patience runs thin. "What does CIA want with my agent?"

Gates laughs sardonically. "Why would CIA ask _NCIS _for help? Perhaps this…_Timothy_…simply was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Fists curling ever so tighter, Gibbs's jaw ticks. He steps up to argue, but a quick hand from Vance pulls him back just before he can get the words off the tip of his tongue.

Vance steps up and levels a hard look at the Deputy Director. "_Special Agent McGee_," the correction snaps with a bite of bitterness, "has helped the FBI, DHS, DIA, NSA, and countless other agencies. CIA included. His field skills are superb and he has probably some of the best technical skills throughout this entire government. It would not be a surprise to call on him for assistance."

Gates' eyes flick from the director, linger on Gibbs, then return back to Vance. He pauses, rolling his head on his shoulders. And just when Gibbs is getting ready to explode, Gates leans forward in his chair and tells them: "We have not heard from Trent Kort in over three months."

Vance's brows furrow. "We're going to need more of an explanation than that, Deputy Director."

"There is not much to tell. Agent Kort is not on assignment. He wrapped up a sting operation that brought down a well-known arms dealer five months ago, took an administrative leave of absence, and has not been seen or heard from since."

"News about that usually travels along the wire. Why are we just now hearing about this?"

"We attempt to keep things low-key."

"Still, three months? Things of this nature usually come out eventually."

"It is _our_ problem, Director Vance. We do not trouble the other agencies needlessly if we can help. It is a _courtesy_." The tone makes it very clear that Gates thinks NCIS should be smart enough to think along the same lines "Now, as I said, Agent Kort is not on assignment, therefore CIA could have had nothing to do with your agent's death. Allow me to offer my sincerest sympathies, however, and–"

"Agent McGee survived," Gibbs interrupts.

"He–?" Gates blinks, stunned. "I'm sorry, I-I thought you said– Is he…?"

"Maybe when you're not so busy, Deputy Director, we can get some straight answers from you. I'm not wasting time going around in circles with you." Gibbs slashes a hand across the front of his throat and the feed cuts as Gates' mouth is opening to reply. "Damn, CIA mother–"

"_Gibbs._" Vance warns. "You realize I'm going to have to do damage control for this."

Gibbs shoots him a withering glare. "He's lying, Leon, and he's not even trying to hide it."

"Yeah," Vance nods. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

…

Ziva snatches the remote and aims it at the plasma in the squad room. She clicks a button and the tread marks Abby had assembled comes up, more clear than when it had been put together earlier. Another click of the button brings up a word document with a list of shops, a few crossed out with a single line strike.

"These are known manufacturers in the DC area that are able to produce a Lowa hiking boot of the size found around our crime scenes. I have eliminated a vast amount, but there are still more to call. I want to widen the search area."

"Talk to Donaldson – one of his agents should be free." Gibbs thinks about that for a moment. "Hendrix's team too."

Ziva nods. She clicks another button and an image comes up in front of the two documents already on the screen. It is another tread mark, but this one is different. Not only is it not indented into the flesh of his agent, but it's also a different size.

"This is the tread mark we found on the door of McGee's apartment. Abby has been running analysis on it but it is hard to determine the specific brand. The boot is more narrow and shorter. This possibly–"

Gibbs nods. "Puts another body on the scene."

The ding of the elevator sounds and Tony steps out. He weaves around dividers and desks and slides up to the two converged in front of the plasma. A critical eye sweeps the room before he turns his attention back to tell them: "No joy, Boss. None of the geeks think they can get in without leaving a trail behind. Told them not to bother if they think they'll get caught."

Ziva snorts. "McGee has hacked CIA multiple times without problems."

"Well he's not here right now, is he?"

The underlying pain Tony fails to mask in the bite of that remark prompts the resulting head-slap to be a bit softer than what Gibbs would normally dole out. Tony mutters a "Thanks, Boss" and shrugs off the hand Ziva places on his shoulder.

Gibbs sighs, thinking. He turns to his two agents. "DiNozzo, I want you calling hospitals. McGee's dog took a chunk out of his attacker, I want to know if anybody checked in with a dog bite." Tony nods, the fire back in his eyes now that he's got something to focus on. "Ziva, get me all the information you can on what sting operation Trent Kort was working on before he disappeared. If you hit a snag contact Fornell."

Ziva blinks at him. "Snag?"

"If you run into any trouble," Gibbs amends.

A desk phone rings suddenly and Tony jumps. He'd been reaching for the device to start making necessary calls. Brows furrowing, he picks up and presses the headset against his face. "Special Agent DiNozzo." Tony's face pales suddenly at the words at the other end of the line. "What happened? Is he all right?"

_McGee._

Gibbs crosses the bullpen in two long strides. He leans in close, his fingers curling around the edge of his SFA's desk.

"_Jeezus._" Tony nods, fingers rubbing at his temple. "Yeah, no, you just… I thought…" He presses his lips together and keeps nodding, humming tonelessly. "No… It's fine. Thanks for calling."

Ziva wanders over just as Tony is replacing his desk phone. She reaches for Tony, placing a shaky hand on his wrist, her eyes wide with worry. Tony twists his hand and curls his fingers around hers, squeezing gently.

"Is McGee–?"

"Tim's fine." Tony nods firmly. "That was the hospital. It's good. The nurse just wanted to let me know that his O2 levels were going up and that they're taking him off the mask. Nasal cannula like before. They also said some more swelling went down so there's an even better chance of not having to put him under again."

Ziva whispers Hebrew, smiling.

"He's not out of the woods, obviously, but he's better. They wanted me to know that."

Gibbs heaves a heavy sigh.

_Jeezus. He had thought…_

"Go."

Tony turns to him. "Boss?"

"It's after lunch anyway. Take an hour. Two." Gibbs pushes off Tony's desk. "Visit McGee. Talk to his doctor, get all the updates, then get back here after."

Tony half-rises from his seat, clearly torn between wanting to see his best friend and wanting to continue working.

Gibbs solves that easily: "Take the files. Go over what we have. Make calls from the room." That way Tony can do both. "Brief Donaldson and Hendrix's team before you go so they can work from here."

"Boss–"

"_Go_, DiNozzo, before I change my mind."

Tony stares at him a moment longer before his lips curl up into a grin and he jerks a thankful nod. He and Ziva stuff file folders into their packs before taking off for the front elevator.

Gibbs runs a hand down the length of his face, then spins on his heel for the back elevator.

After a short detour for a Caf-Pow he heads for the lab. As soon as his foot crosses the threshold Abby barrels into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. The plastic cup crunches in his hand, the top popping as red liquid dribbles out. Gibbs wraps his free hand around the Goth and raises a brow over her shoulder as Ducky looks on with a frown.

"Abs?"

Abby presses her face into his shoulder. She sniffles. "I'm fine. Honestly. You don't have to ask again. Promise. It's just…the pictures were…and I just…" She leans back to look at him, her eyes bright. "I needed a Gibbs hug."

Gibbs pulls her back in, patting her back gently.

Abby nods and pulls back again. She swipes a hand across her face before looking up with a small smile. "Okay. Thanks. I'm good." She strides back to her computer. "But I don't have good news, Bossman, my babies still aren't picking up anything on this DNA Jethro tore outta Timmy's attacker."

The Shepherd perks from where he is lying across the floor, nails clattering against the tile.

"We are being impatient because of the gravity of the situation," Ducky says politically. "This is not a television show where DNA can be matched in a matter of minutes. The DNA database has over five million records. It takes time, my dear."

"We're checking hospitals for recent check-ins with dog bites. Hopefully I'll have something soon for you to compare it to Abs." Gibbs places the Caf-Pow down on the lab table. "Now, what else do you got?"

Ducky speaks up again, "We've been looking over the crime scene images as requested, Jethro, and we've made some observations. Abigail?"

Abby swallows thickly, nods, then clacks on her keyboard to bring up a series of images. Gibbs tilts his head, eyes narrowing. These were the same photos he'd been looking at just this morning, various perspectives of his youngest agent sprawled out on a hospital bed and stuffed behind a dumpster.

"The shoe print on his arm is very faint, not enough to shatter. He was not necessarily steppedon, but fibers were found on both wrists."

"Denim," Abby supplies. "Jeans, more than likely."

Ducky continues, "So he was pinned, straddled by one or held on both sides by two that kneeled to hold him down. See the red markings?" Abby clicks one of the images and magnifies the area to show Gibbs what Ducky is talking about. "Chaffing."

Gibbs' gut clenches. "He struggled."

Ducky nods. "Yes. Another suggestion of his awareness is from the handprint at Timothy's throat." That image pops up, the angry red handprint prominent against pale skin. "The angle shows it had to come from the front." Ducky demonstrates with his own hands, front assault first then twisted to show what the print would look like if one had come up from behind.

Anger mounts. Gibbs' hands curl into fists at his sides.

"FBI also found bark in Timmy's hair," Abby pipes up, voice soft. "It correlates with the hair found at the base of the tree trunk at the area Jethro led you and Ziva to at Rock Creek Park."

"There's a goose egg," Ducky tells Gibbs. "We did not initially see because of the abundance of bandages, but FBI and Bethesda did a wonderful job documenting the injuries." A nod to Abby and a picture of the large lump appears on the computer screen.

Gibbs winces. "Jeezus."

"This large of a hit coupled with the gunshot wound…" Ducky trails off and shakes his head. "He is _very_ luck. A miracle has truly been blessed upon our young friend."

"McGee. Irish luck." Abby sniffles, nodding. "It's in his name, Duckman."

Gibbs just nods. "What else?"

"Nothing definitive. There were no markings to suggest he was hit with anything other than a foot or fist. No set pattern. Abigail managed to extract a hand size. No prints, but it is something else she can use to compare it to whatever suspects you bring in."

"And I'm also still trying to get into his personal laptop," Abby says. "There's an encryption I can't get passed, but Jenna from Cyber Crimes is going to help me later this afternoon."

Ducky closes the thin file he'd been reading and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "Anthony came down earlier and informed us that Trent Kort was seen with Timothy a few hours before he was found."

"Got security footage from the coffee house McGee frequents. I'm have the AV techs look it over right now."

"_Gibbs!_"

"You've been busy Abs. I don't want to bog you down with more work than you can handle. People get complacent that way."

"Complacent? But, I–"

"No, Abby." Gibbs holds up his hand, shaking his head. "Fornell stuck his neck out to get that FBI guy to come here to work on the other cases. You're under scrutiny. Let's not give them any reason to think you're stretching yourself too thin."

Abby pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. Ducky tuts and Abby's eyes flick to him before her arms fall to her sides and she flushes. "I want to help," she tells Gibbs. "I'm almost through with this evidence. Databases can run themselves. Can I see?"

"Later. After they have their analysis." Gibbs leans across and kisses her forehead. He places his hands on her shoulders and looks at her. "Right now I need you to take a break. You been here since early this morning, probably haven't stopped yet. Right?" He doesn't even wait for the inevitable nod. "Get something to eat. Sleep. Just take it easy for an hour or two, okay?"

"But I'm not–"

"Yes, you are." Ducky reaches over to pat her hand, drawing her from Gibbs' arms. "Come, my dear, I will treat you to lunch at the food court today. We will take Jethro the dog for a romp in the park. After, we can come back and you can try my new Strawberry Slender Black Tea."

Abby worries her bottom lip. She looks to Gibbs before looking to Ducky and nodding.

"Good. Now, you gather your things and I will meet you at the elevator." Ducky gestures and Gibbs follows until they are in the hallway between the elevator and the lab. He waits until Abby is out of hearing range, then sighs. "I am glad you are making her take a break; the poor dear is already running herself ragged."

"Been sloppy," Gibbs tells Ducky what he told Fornell this morning. "I need to straighten up. Get them back in top form too."

"You received a shock. Cases such as these are hard already, but the magnitude is intensified when they are personal." Gibbs looks away and Ducky reaches for him, squeezing his bicep assuredly. "It is important that you get your head straightened before you run half-cocked into this. Looking after your people, making sure they don't get overwhelmed, is a good start."

"I'm using McGee against Tony and Ziva. Only time I can get them to take a break is to threaten to pull them off the case or have them work from the hospital room while on guard duty."

"Timothy would approve," Ducky says. He stares at Gibbs knowingly. "He would also approve of you heeding your own advice."

Gibbs shakes his head. "I can rest when the case is closed."

"Jethro–"

"Look after Abby," Gibbs says, pulling away and bypassing the elevator for the stairs. "Let me know if she gets in over her head. Try to get her to swing by the hospital. She's not doing herself any favors staying away."

Alone in the stairwell, Gibbs leans back against the closed door and hangs his head. He rubs a hand over his chest, breathing through the tightening sensation clenching his insides. One long exhale and then he nods, composing himself.

Coffee.

Coffee, then back to work.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks much for reading the previous chapter and this installation! Though there are many pieces still missing, I do hope the picture is becoming more clear. While I do not want to drag this story out, I am attempting not to have everything revealed with a flick of my fingers. It happens on the show because they have a time constraint, but that's not how it is in real life (granted, I am not in that particular field to say for certain). Opinions? Questions? Want to discuss the season finale? Shoot me a review or PM!

**Caveat:** All negative opinions against, and offensive portrayals of, any and all government agencies and their employees are fictional, used for story entertainment purposes only. I hold our agencies in high regard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Fornell stares incredulously, obviously waiting for the punch line. He smiles cautiously, even laughs a little, but levity drops quick when the humor isn't exchanged. "You're shitting me." His face turns a dark shade of angry red. On the exhale of a heavy breath, Fornell releases a string of curses that would make even the saltiest of sailors blush.

Gibbs calmly sips his coffee and uses the time to gather his thoughts. It's been an hour since the MTAC conversation with Deputy Director Gates and, as much as the mere _thought _of the exchange still makes him livid, he's gotten better at masking his frustration. All the anger and stress is slowly percolating deep in his belly, waiting for the right moment to release. It's making his gut churn something awful, but it's at least keeping his head in the moment, and that's what McGee needs of him most of all.

Still cursing, Fornell sags against the park bench and clutches his coffee cup tight. The styrofoam gives way under his vice grip, splashing coffee onto his hand. He waves his hand, then sticks three burnt fingers in his mouth. Not the most productive way to get him back on track, but it does the trick. He releases his fingers with a 'pop' and refocuses his stare.

"Damn CIA. Makes this shit all that much more of a headache and a half." An obvious understatement. "Appreciate the heads up."

Gibbs nods. Not that he had a choice. Considering politics, Vance probably informed the head honcho at FBI already since this is classified as a joint operation. Still, given the outside perspective, it's probably better Fornell hear the news from Gibbs directly rather than be blindsided later on.

"Going to need you pulling resources earlier than I thought, Tobias."

Fornell levels another blank stare at him. He catches on much faster this time though. Another shade of red tints his features. "Are you fu–!" Fornell stops. His eyes scan the park, find nothing out of the ordinary, then he leans in close and begins again, voice a hissing whisper: "You think I got the guys to pull that shit?"

Gibbs bites back the instantaneous _McGee could do it _reply that dances on the tip of his tongue. As Tony stated previously, McGee is obviously not here. Not in the capacity that they need or, more accurately, _want_ him in at least.

Fornell drags a hand down the length of his face. "I'll see what I can do, Jethro, but I ain't promising anything. Our Cyber team is good, but they aren't _that _good."

They aren't _McGee _good. And that's not surprising. Gibbs may be biased but even Fornell knows Tim McGee is probably one of the best techs employed throughout all the alphabet soup agencies.

"I got sources," Fornell continues. "Inside guys who can, if not give me the knowhow, then at least throw me a bone or two. Kort ain't stupid enough to go rogue again. Damn ass is lucky he didn't get dropped when his eye got took. There ought to be file on him somewhere that's not buried in the depths of cyberspace."

"Thinkin' it might have to do with his last op – arms dealer takedown. NCIS Cyber Crimes couldn't get a lick out of it, but maybe yours can."

Gibbs had tried venturing down to the sub-basement to intimidate answers out everyone. It was like walking into a room full of probies greener than when even McGee was at his greenest. The stuttering alone sent him into a tailspin. He barely lasted ten minutes down there, resisting the urge to smash his head against the elevator doors when one agent had unhelpfully called out, "Sorry, sir!" as he was making his escape.

"I'll see what we can come up with. Like I said, no promises."

"Didn't expect any, Tobias."

Unfortunately, other than interagency developments, Gibbs doesn't have much else to offer for an update. The AV techs are still going over the security footage he and Tony procured from the coffee shop, Abby is still trying to get through the various firewalls littering McGee's personal computer, and Tony and Ziva are working while on protection detail at the hospital. No word on any hits for recently admitted dog bites or the specially made boots.

"Best witness is McGee. Docs say anything about him waking anytime soon?" Fornell asks.

"He's better, pressure they've been monitoring has gone down and his oxygen levels are back up, but they can't give a timeline on when he'll wake."

"I got something that might perk you up. Some of the suits were doing rounds at the apartment building, caught one neighbor who heard a heavy bang and loud shuffling that particular night. Apartment right below your kid."

"Thought Tony and Ziva interviewed them all?"

"This guy, Joe, was working – a lawyer who was on his way out the door that night and ended up stuck at the office under a pile of paperwork. He didn't get home until early this morning."

"What time was he out?"

"Stepped out about 6:30 PM. Didn't think anything of the noise, just sounded like someone dropped something real heavy. Shuffling wasn't a bother either cause he says he hears McGee movin' about all the time, shredding papers and listening to music and such. Thin walls, he supposes. Noise only lasted about ten minutes."

"Enough to break-in, look for something, and split. Abby says she doesn't think anything's missing."

"Except his car. He drive to the coffee joint?"

"He was with his dog. Walked. Never saw his car on the cameras."

"Lawyer Joe says McGee's ride was gone by the time he peeled out of the parking lot. I'm thinkin' it was stolen at that moment."

"For what purpose?"

"Stupid lack of judgment?" Fornell shakes his head. "First, you shoot a federal agent, then you steal his car? And not just some rinky-dink rig everyone and their mother has, but a sports car that sticks out like a sore thumb. You don't see many of those things riding around DC."

Gibbs frowns. "If that was true we'd have a hit on that BOLO."

Fornell shrugs, unable to dispute that.

"Thought that was supposed to perk me up? Just makes me more frustrated."

"I'm learning to take what I can get with this crazy shit storm. You'd do best to get in that same mindset. We're digging deep and fast, but it's not going to come all at once, much as we want it to. Put your mind at ease and focus on the positives."

Gibbs blinks at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Never figured you for an optimist, Tobias."

Fornell leans back on the park bench. "Your ME called me earlier."

"I'm fine."

"That immediate response reiterates the point that you're not." Fornell scans him with a critical eye. "You're dangerous when things get personal, Jethro; not only to the suspect, but to yourself as well."

"I fight for my agents. They get hurt, I bleed with them. That's not new."

"No, it's not, but a majority of the time they're up and kicking after a few hours in the hospital. You ever have one go critical like this? Not knowing whether they'd live or die?"

"DiNozzo had the bout with the plague."

"And that lasted… What? Day? Day and a half?" Gibbs says nothing. "You gotta pace yourself, Jethro. You keep going like this and you're going to burst a blood vessel or keel over from a heart attack. That's not going to help McGee one bit."

"I want answers. _McGee _deserves answers."

"But you don't have to kill yourself trying to get those answers. Eat. Sleep. Skip the coffee. Take a few minutes and sand something in your basement. Nobody's expecting you to run 24-7. Not even McGee."

Gibbs glares at him. "I don't appreciate you speaking for my agent."

"Just speaking the truth." Fornell smiles back.

Gibbs moves to retort, then pauses as he feels a buzz at his thigh. He pulls out his cell phone to inspect the ID and frowns at the display.

…

Tony jerks at the hand that whacks the back of his head. His face is red and his body trembles as he sucks in air through his nose like a bull. The teary-eyed nurse he had cornered slithers past, blubbering apologies as she flees down the long hall.

Gibbs shoves a hand through his silver hair. What a friggin' mess. He shoots his SFA a warning glare before turning on his heel to address the hospital security who flank him to the left and right. "NCIS. I'll take it from here." He flashes his badge, then gestures for FBI Agent Donaldson to come round up the troops. They depart in a messy pack, grumbling their annoyances.

"Boss, I–"

Gibbs whirls back around. "Clam up!" Tony's mouth snaps shut. Gibbs heaves a calming breath and feels it tremor through his entire body as he fights the frustration billowing deep in his belly. He hisses, through gritted teeth, "You need to get out of my sight. Take a walk." When Tony's jaw ticks in automatic preparation to protest, Gibbs gets right up in his face and spits, "_Now, DiNozzo!_" jabbing a finger down the hall.

Much like a petulant child, Tony bites his lip and stomps away.

Uncurling tightly clenched fists, wincing at the crescent-shaped indentations, Gibbs presses a shaky hand against his temple as a steady thump makes itself known. He turns at the clearing of a throat.

Fornell quirks a brow at him. "They're not going to ban DiNozzo from the hospital, but he got pretty damned close. You're lucky Donaldson here has a quick tongue." The FBI Agent in question flushes a bright pink. Fornell slaps his shoulder for the modesty. "Told you we weren't going to clean up NCIS shit, but we'll call this a free pass."

Gibbs merely rolls his eyes as he brushes by them both. He presses a hand against McGee's hospital room door and pushes it inward, announcing his presence with a soft tap against the frame as he steps in. Ziva stares at him when he enters. She's sitting vigil at McGee's right, calmly cutting up a bouquet of flowers with a wicked looking knife. Tiny mangled bits of soft pinks and greens scatter the floor like confetti.

"Makin' a mess there, Ziver."

"It is better that I occupy my frustration on this abomination rather than the other, yes?"

Rather than answering the rhetorical, Gibbs closes the door and steps fully into the room. He hooks a nearby chair with his leg and drops into it, sitting opposite the bed of Ziva so he can watch both his agents without problem.

McGee is looking better. The mass of machines surrounding his bed have diminished to two and the nasal cannula inserted into his nostrils and hooked around both ears looks much less intimidating than the oxygen mask that had encompassed half his face. However, he is also still much too pale and unnervingly still for Gibbs' comfort.

"Had to do some damage control soon as I got in, didn't get to talk to the doctor – how is he?"

"No change since the phone call." Ziva cocks her head. "Damage control?"

"DiNozzo made a bit of racket. Nearly got booted."

When Agent Donaldson had called him about his agent making a disturbance in the hospital, about to be kicked out of the building, he had only mentioned Tony. Gibbs hadn't thought to ask about Ziva, but he wasn't rookie enough to think she'd be totally out of the loop.

But Ziva just slashes the bouquet with renewed frustration.

Gibbs sighs. His team is not usually this difficult. Ziva is the calm and collected one. She doesn't wear her emotions on her sleeve like Abby and she's not hotheaded like Tony. Maybe sometimes getting her to talk to is like pulling teeth, but she's generally pretty compliant when the questioning isn't directed at her specific actions.

So he presses: "Sounds like DiNozzo deserved to get kicked."

"He was _upset_," Ziva is quick to defend her partner, eye flashing irritation at Gibbs' words. "His agitation was not unwarranted."

"Shoved a security guard and made a nurse cry – even if it was unwarranted, it was also misdirected. So what happened?"

"The flowers," she shakes the bouquet, dislodging a couple leaves with her jerky movements, "were here before we arrived. I did not think anything of it. McGee is liked amongst the agency and it is not far off to think it came from a group at NCIS."

"But it didn't?"

The cream colored card Ziva shoves at him is unassuming at first; then he squints to make out the tiny black scrawl and his stomach plummets as the blurry words become legible. _Get Better - Dad. _It takes an overwhelming amount of strength to keep from tearing the onion-thin square into a million pieces.

"I did not think it appropriate," Ziva says. "Tony thought it even more so."

Gibbs very carefully, very deliberately tucks the card into his pant pocket. He intertwines his hands to keep them from shaking at the boiling anger that is drumming through his very core.

"What will you do?" Ziva asks.

Gibbs looks up at her. "I need you to promise me that this won't happen again." When he sees her lean forward, he barrels on before she can open her mouth to interrupt, "I need you to promise me that you won't sit back and allow DiNozzo to fly off the handle again." Because he knows Ziva. And he knows if she had wanted to she could've stopped Tony before a call to Gibbs was warranted.

"I am not his keeper. And I do not disagree with him."

"Disagree or not, I will not have my agents go rogue on me. McGee needs us all together or not at all. Which means you don't fly off the handle either. I see it happening, Ziva, and I need you to reign it in before it bursts."

Ziva stares at him, presses her lips firmly together, then nods.

"Good. Now throw that abomination away and put away the knife – you're scaring the natives."

Ziva arches a brow before complying, stuffing the mangled bouquet into a nearby trash bin before tucking her knife away into one of the many pockets of her beige cargo pants. She angles herself toward the bed and reaches for one of McGee's hands, taking it in both of her own.

"I do not like him so still," Ziva whispers her confession. "He is my brother. We are close. But I did not realize how much…" Her eyes close and her lips move in silent prayer before she looks up and shakes her head, ridding herself of the moment of weakness she's allowed Gibbs to see. Her expression turns professional, even as she continues to carefully caress her teammate's hand.

"Tell me about the phone calls," Gibbs says to help steer her back on track.

Ziva nods. "There have been two patients admitted to Bethesda within a 48-hour period with dog bites. I interrogated the one still admitted – he is a teenager, 17 years old, with bite marks on his neck. His mother was with him and she says she was with him when he provoked a neighborhood dog just last night. An agent went to the dog owner's house and verified the story, but I still took samples to take back to NCIS for Abby."

"And the other?"

"Ryan Kelly, mid-30s, came to the emergency room the night McGee was shot with bite and scratch marks on his side. Doctors stitched him up and prescribed pain killers before he checked out. He did not leave an address, but Special Agent Wheaton is looking into it so we can follow-up. No others. We could widen the search parameters, but…"

Gibbs lifts both brows.

Ziva sighs. "I do not believe the attacker is that stupid, Gibbs. Jethro the dog was covered in blood. He had flesh in his teeth. The bite was bad, no doubt about it, and it more than likely did indeed need medical attention, but it is just too risky to go to a hospital when they _know_ we would be working this angle to find them."

Gibbs frowns because he thought the same even when he assigned the task to look. But, still…

"Not everyone is unflappable, people make mistakes, and we can't assume that this hump won't. Look into the two from Bethesda then, if you don't think it's the right angle, focus on something that your gut tells you fits better and put another agent on this."

Ziva nods. She tells him, "The boot angle stalled as well. Nobody on the list of stores sold a 15-plus sized Lowa hiking boot in the past three months. There are, of course, online retailers, but it is a vast amount to get through. The fact is that without more information there is simply no way to trace the procurement of the boot used in the attack."

Gibbs frowns. "You got any _good_ news for me?"

Ziva shakes her head. "I do not…" She swallows hard and shakes her head again, clutching tighter to McGee's hand. Her brows furrow. "I have been thinking of what I can do to help, but I have not been able to come up with anything. McGee has assisted me many times over and I cannot do anything to help him now. It is _frustrating_." She looks up at him, eyes pleading. "Tell me what I can do."

Gibbs stands and walks around the bed, squats down to her eyelevel. He cups the right side of her face and brushes his thumb across her cheek.

"Stay with Tim," he tells her. "Let him know you're here. Guard him. Be with him. Right now, that's what he needs." Rising back to stand, he shifts his grip to squeeze her shoulder and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "That's what you both need."

As he walks out the door he sees Ziva lay her head on the mattress.

Agent Donaldson is standing at a position of attention to the right of the door when Gibbs steps out. His hand twitches and he looks about ready to pop a salute at the mere appearance of Gibbs. Probably isn't far passed his rookie stage, but Gibbs knows he's seasoned enough if Fornell has faith to put him on guard duty.

"Agent Gibbs, sir–"

"Don't call me sir."

Donaldson flushes. "Uh…yes…Agent Gibbs…" He swallows the 'sir' Gibbs can see in his eyes. "Agent Fornell wanted me to inform you that he headed back to the Hoover Building and that he will look into what you had discussed. He also wants you to call him the second you know anything."

Gibbs resists the urge to rolls his eyes.

"Thank you, Agent. Which way to Agent DiNozzo head?"

"Heard a couple nurses say the 'crazy fed' was pacing in the stairwell – down the hall and to the left, next to the west wing elevators."

Gibbs nods and heads that way. When he enters the stairwell he finds that Tony is not pacing as informed, but sitting on the bottom step of the first landing with his head in his hands. His right hand is bloody and bruised at the knuckles and there is a hole in the plaster wall in front of him. Gibbs drops onto the step next to him and waits.

It doesn't take long for Tony to acknowledge his presence. The SFA raises his head, rests his chin on crossed arms, and stares straight ahead with a blank expression on his face. "You gunna pull me?" he asks.

Gibbs picks the cream colored card from his pocket and flashes it in front of Tony. "You wanna tell me why this set you off?"

Tony turns to regard the note, eyes flashing. "That don't make your stomach turn?"

"Never said that. Just wanting to know why it affected you more."

"Makes me sick, Boss. You see it? _Get Better – Dad_. Like an order."

"Sounds about the same of what I say, DiNozzo."

"But it's not!" Tony exclaims. "When you say it, you _mean _it. The Admiral doesn't, not like you do." He gulps convulsively, like he's about to throw up but manages to taper the nausea just in time. "It's like Senior, Boss, but different, ya know? Don't know which is worse. Senior had no expectations, but the Admiral has nothing but expectations. McGee couldn't measure, still can't in the Admiral's eyes."

Gibbs frowns. He hadn't thought it possible, but the more layers peeled back of Admiral McGee the less Gibbs likes.

Tony says, "It burns me, Boss. Makes me see red. I just… I love him like a brother and he doesn't deserve that. Doesn't deserve any of this. _Nobody_ does, but McGee even less." Tony shakes his head and swallows again. "We're enough, Boss. The Admiral doesn't matter because _we're_ _enough_."

Damn straight.

Gibbs places a hand on Tony's shoulder and squeezes.

"One day, DiNozzo."

Tony looks up, brows furrowing. "Boss?"

"Go home or stay here with McGee, rest or don't, but I want you off this case for at least 24-hours. I made you run ragged, didn't give you time to adjust, and that's on my shoulders. Now, I need you to get your head on straight."

Tony opens his mouth like he's going to argue, but closes it at the last minute and just nods. Probably knows that this compromise is beyond fair and one that will not change no matter how much he argues.

Gibbs hooks Tony's bicep and pulls him up to his feet. He grabs Tony's wrist and inspects the purplish blue knuckles that are splattered with a bit of dry blood. "Hurt?"

Tony looks at him. "Like hell."

And Gibbs knows he's not talking about his hand.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks y'all for sticking with me! Not much to pass except the usual excuses of busy life equals slow updates. Work is demanding and my college class started earlier this month, so things are picking up a bit personally. This story? Hope you're still enjoying it! I'm trying hard to keep things at a slow, even pace and I'm not sure I'm doing that well. Please let me know.

Also, I'm taking to heart some of the comments I've gotten about tense changes and will be editing previous chapters to fix mistakes. Thanks to all who have pointed it out, and thanks to those who have defended me from such reviews. Rest assured, details for the overall story will not change. And, again, thank you all for all your reviews, favorites, and follows.

Happy Days


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The days following pass slowly.

After a hearty head-slap to the back of his own head for letting it get to this point, Gibbs issues a 24-hour suspension for both Tony and Ziva. His agents spend their day off at McGee's bedside, supervising his move from the emergency room to the ICU while drifting somewhere between sleep and guard duty. It's not adequate rest, but it at least lightens the bags under each of their eyes, especially when Gibbs adds the caveat of not being able to return to the Yard until they each get at least eight hours of sleep in their own beds.

The rest, however welcome, does not help with the case itself. Even with all the tools offered by Director Vance and the director of FBI – MTAC access, more manpower, new programs – it just isn't enough when they have nothing but a seemingly rogue CIA agent to go on. Not even the combined favors of all with an inside man at Langley can break into those highly-secured files. The most they can get on that front is the name of the arms dealer Kort last took down more than five months ago.

"Ruiz Marquez," Abby reports when the information comes in. "Marquez was the head honcho of a West Coast operation smuggling weapons in from the South. Kort infiltrated the company and managed to lead CIA in a big takedown during some sort of meet between Marquez and his top supplier. It was legit, Gibbs."

In other words: if this operation has anything to do with why Kort was talking to McGee in that coffee shop, they can't figure out the connection.

So they go back to the drawing board. Much of their time is spent on searching for at least one single piece of useful evidence to get them going. The other portion of time sees them going through the small amount of evidence they already have. Tony, for instance, after the fiftieth viewing, notices something hinky about the security footage and takes it back to the AV guys and Abby for further examination.

"Abby told us before that Tim's phone shut off at 5 PM at his apartment, right? But he's fiddling with it at the coffee shop well after that time. And it's not like he's texting or playing a game or something, he's jabbing the screen…"

"His last call," Abby says, "was to his internet provider, which is the same company he uses for his phone. Something was wrong with it. That's what he was doing in the coffee shop. Trying to fix it."

It was entirely possible the phone issues were a coincidence, but this was Gibbs' team and they didn't believe in those.

Facial recognition and more probing from of the barista, Scott, brings up names of the few patrons that had been occupying the shop. Interviews for each person don't bring much. One man can barely recall what he himself ordered, much less what strangers in a coffee place were arguing about. Another woman claims ignorance, saying that as voices were raised she fled the scene as quick as she could. Others say the much of the same, indicating unwillingness to be in the middle of what looked to be the start up of a fight.

"I'm nosy by nature," says Sharon, one customer that had attempted to eavesdrop. "The Brit went right to your man…Agent McGee?...snatched his arm and pulled him into a corner. Agent McGee said his name, or, at least, I think it was his name…something with a K? You said it was Kort? Coulda been that. But, anyway, they were whispering to each other real rude-like."

"Did you hear _anything_?" Tony asks sharply.

"Nah. Not really. Spoke for a while though, scared a few customers. Guy next to me was gunna call 911, but then Agent McGee got out of his grip and they left. Met up again outside, of course. Couldn't hear much after that, but before your Agent McGee turned away he said something about calling his boss."

Which got Gibbs diving for his phone, thumbing through previously missed calls to see if McGee had tried contacting him the night he was attacked. No such luck. Not even from McGee's last outgoing calls. Probably couldn't because of the previously-discovered phone issues.

It still sends a bolt through Gibbs' stomach – knowing that his man could've possibly been trying to call him for help that night. Rule 3. And Gibbs knows it's not his fault he was unreachable, he can't do anything about downed electronics, but that doesn't make it ache any less.

Then Abby and the Geek Squad down in the sub-basement finally crack the multiple firewalls on McGee's personal computer. And, yeah, to most of them a lot of hope was riding on it but… Under layers of encryptions they only find a work in progress manuscript and usernames and passwords to bank accounts and other personal sites.

"He doesn't write his book on the typewriter anymore because of the Landon Grey incident," Ziva explains with a frown. "He has also had problems with his bank accounts. It is not unreasonable to think the combined events would cause him to act cautiously when considering the sensitivity of the documents."

Reasonable explanation, but still…

They're back to square one.

Later – Fornell finds Gibbs in his basement. He's not sanding his latest project, but rather sitting on the floor leaning against its half-finished hull while taking sips of bourbon from a dirty cup as he thumbs through a thin case file. Three guesses on which case file, but Fornell only needs one.

"How's the kid?"

It's Fornell's new greeting these past few days and Gibbs' belly churns when he realizes it, and Gibbs' response of "No change," is becoming routine.

As stalled as the case is, after all, McGee's state remains just as it was a week and a half before. Still more tests, still more relief of pressure, but not a wink of movement. There's just no telling when he will awaken. All in due time, the doctors continue to tell the team, when he's good and ready he'll rejoin the conscious.

Remember, they say, it's a miracle he's alive.

Most everyone at the Yard is as equally grateful as the team, but a few snippets are heard every now and again that Gibbs' team jumps on. Tony nearly punches out one of the agents from the terrorism unit when he overhears him say "I'm just waiting until the geek drops so I can put in for the Special Agent position". Gibbs pulls him back in time, but Ziva worms around them and manages to land a solid kick to the man's groin before she's reeled in as well. A steely-eyed glare from Gibbs and witnesses to the incident remain quiet when Director Vance wanders down after hearing the commotion all the way from his office. The knowing look Vance shoots Gibbs says he's not fooled at all, but he doesn't say anything as he about-faces from the scene.

Even Abby gets in on the action. She throws an ice-cold Caf-Pow in the face of a probie from the counterintelligence unit when he questions McGee's character in front of her. Not a mistake he makes twice. Especially when his explanation receives little to no sympathy and he is forced to suffer through the rest of the work day in his soggy, red-stained suit. Only two hours, but still plenty embarrassing.

"There's some rumors going around that Agent McGee was involved in whatever got him shot," Palmer, a surprising source for all things gossip-related around the Yard, had told them. "Not a lot, but some people… I try to stop it where I can, but you can't fix stupid, I guess…"

In the basement, Fornell wanders over, hooking a nearby chair with his leg and dropping into it instead of onto the floor. He rubs his hands together and shakes his head when Gibbs offers up some bourbon. "On call," Fornell says in explanation. "Just came by for an update."

Gibbs just grunts noncommittally.

"You hear anything more from Pop McGee?" Fornell asks.

"Leon called him for an update two days ago. Wouldn't let me talk to him, figured I might say something I'd regret. Told Leon I wouldn't regret a word I say to that bastard, but he still wouldn't let me in. Still, conversation didn't seem to go so well anyway."

Vance had come out of MTAC completely red in the face. He wouldn't tell Gibbs what was said, but the words and phrases of "bastard" and "what kind of a man" and "he doesn't even know…" were tossed around. Needless to say, Gibbs had found Vance at McGee's bedside that very night.

"Admiral McGee's on the track to a cabinet position in the Oval Office," Fornell says. "NCIS, FBI, CIA… He probably doesn't want to get involved."

"Doesn't make it right," Gibbs snaps back. It's his _son_.

Fornell merely shrugs.

McGee, at least, has two relatives that care – Penny and Sarah. Ducky had tracked down Penny just days ago. She's in the UK and unable to leave due to authorities telling her she has to remain in the country, something about a protest that went wrong. Gibbs is still sketchy on the details. She demands updates everyday. As for Sarah, Gibbs had to cash in a favor to get the hysterical younger woman a spot on a C130 flight home from her overseas studying. She sits and reads short stories and poems to McGee every morning and night when she isn't kicked out by nurses that are unwilling to allow her to set up camp.

Gibbs shakes his head, pushing himself back to the present. "You got anything on your end? I'm still waiting for a hit on that BOLO the guys on your end put out. Surprises me a sport car like that isn't seen more often."

There had been a sighting a week ago in downtown DC, but the plates hadn't matched and the VIN was different.

"We widened the search area again. Been a while, so it could be anywhere here in the continental United States. Hell, if they're real meticulous, it could be overseas by now."

"_Jeezus."_

Fornell chews his bottom lip. "I gotta be the bearer of more bad news. My director is going to call up your director – he's pulling the security detail."

Gibbs jerks. "What?"

"It's almost been two weeks, Jethro, and there hasn't been an attack or anything suspicious."

"Think that might be _because_ there's a security detail."

"Hey, man, I tried to swing it, but we're pulling out. Tonight. Not all the way! I'm still heading up this operation, but we're starting to get bogged down on cases of our own."

"So are we!"

The major cases had been distributed amongst the other teams – supervised by Balboa, Donaldson, and Hendrix, respectively – but, like FBI, NCIS was often hit with more cases and not enough agents. So, even though Gibbs' team was still running point on McGee's attack, they were still thrown leftovers. Nothing big and nothing that had lasted longer than two days, but still something that took their attention away.

"It's only been _two weeks_," Gibbs stresses.

Fornell nods. "I know." Unable to offer anymore, Fornell clasps Gibbs' shoulder before pushing back up to a standing position. "I gotta get back to work, running down some leads for a new case and, well, you know the drill." With a small wave, Fornell departs.

Gibbs drags a tired hand down the length his face. He squeezes the space above his nose, between his eyes, as the tiny words of the file in front of him begin to blur. Closing it with a sigh, he tosses it onto the nearby workbench and then leans his head back against the half-finished hull, knocking his head against it a few times before settling.

He doesn't know what to do and it is frustrating the hell out of him.

"You need to calm down," Ducky had told him two days ago while unstrapping a blood pressure cuff from his arm. "I understand this is a trying situation, Jethro, but you collapsing due to stress will not help anyone." He had tapped Gibbs' chest with his clipboard. "If your BP goes up anymore, I will be forced to report this to Director Vance."

So he went to the gym right after. Spotted Tony and Ziva there as well. And they all spent a good five hours whaling on a punching bag, releasing their stress in the easiest way they knew how. Ducky hadn't been the least bit amused when they'd wandered back up to get their bloody knuckles tended to, but he bandaged them up without comment and noted the BP drop.

"Boss?"

Opening his eyes, Gibbs looks to the stairs. He levers himself up into a standing position. "What is it, DiNozzo?"

Tony saunters forward. "Ah, not much, I was making the dinner run for me and Ziva at the hospital." As he passes the workbench he eyes the closed file sitting on top and frowns as he realizes its contents. "Was just, ah…" Tony rubs the back of his head. "Just wanted to stop by before I head back."

"Something on your mind, DiNozzo?"

"Few things," Tony says. "Mostly Tim." He shrugs. "And the case."

Gibbs lifts a brow.

"Maybe a little Abby." Tony kicks the ground absently. "I swung by there before coming here, thought I might offer her a ride, but…"

Gibbs sighs. They'd been back and forth on this particular matter since Tony had finally spoken up about it the day of McGee's move to the ICU. There wasn't much to say on the matter, though. Everybody on the team had attempted (still attempts) to persuade Abby to head over to the hospital, but her heels were dug in. Nobody, however, tries harder than Tony. He doesn't _understand_.

Gibbs understands, though. Abby doesn't outright tell him, but Gibbs knows why.

More often than not, after all, Gibbs is the one that usually finds her camped out in her lab, sleeping on the lumpy futon in her office listening to the jazz music procured from McGee's phone.

"Puppies," Abby had said mournfully just last night whilst burying her face in Gibbs' shoulder. "I love puppies." Then she just sobbed and sobbed. And while Gibbs was wiping the tears from her eyes and rubbing her back, she shoved Bert into his arms.

Kneeling, Gibbs reaches under the half-finished hull and procures the stuffed hippo. It had fallen earlier from its precarious perch atop his latest project and Gibbs had yet to grab it. Straightening, he brushes the dust and wood chips from the plump gray body.

Tony arches a brow as Gibbs turns with Bert in hand.

"Next best thing," Abby had said, sniffling. "Until I work up the courage."

Gibbs nods his head. "Come on. Let's go visit McGee."

Tony presses his lips together and nods. He leads the way out of Gibbs' basement and, without comment, shifts the pizza boxes from the passenger seat to the back when Gibbs decides to ride with him. Half-way to the hospital, Gibbs' phone rings.

"They're leaving!" Ziva says as soon as he picks up.

Gibbs closes his eyes and pinches his nose. Damn Fornell works fast. "FBI?"

"Yes!" Ziva says, distraught. "There is no one to guard the door! Shall I call Agent Fornell?"

"No," Gibbs says. "I'm on my way. I'll explain when I get there."

Tony's eyes dart from the road to Gibbs, then quickly shift back again. "What was that?" he asks. And when Gibbs tells him, Tony's hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles quickly turning white. "How the hell do the–"

"_DiNozzo._" Gibbs says sharply. "We'll sort it out later. Tonight, _we'll_ stay with McGee."

When they get to the hospital Ziva has a similar reaction, muttering curt phrases in Hebrew. Probably curses. Then she eyes the pizza box Tony brings in and her nose wrinkles even more. "Again?" she asks. "And no plates?"

"It's _pizza_," Tony says, as if that explains everything. He looks around the tiny ICU room. "Where's McSis?"

"She has been here all day. I managed to persuade her to go home for night." She turns to where Gibbs is placing Bert the hippo amongst the mound of Get Well cards and flowers–most all from NCIS personnel, none from the Admiral–that adorn a table in McGee's room. "Has there been any updates?"

Gibbs shakes his head. He studies his two agents. "How long have you been here?"

"A few hours," Tony says around a mouthful of supreme pizza. "We headed into the office for a bit to go over some files."

Ziva reaches over to wipe a bit of red sauce from the side of Tony's mouth. "We have no updates as well." Then she turns to McGee, grasps his hand and holds it between two of her own. "McGee has been the same. Vitals are good."

Over the past two weeks small changes have been made to McGee's appearance. The heavy swatch of bandages that had adorned his head has been reduced to a thin layer that wraps around his head only a few times. The bruise that had taken over a large portion of the left side of his face has faded from the angry bluish-black it once was to a light, healing purple. The one on his neck, at least, has faded completely, and the partial boot print that had been indented in his wrist is gone as well.

Honestly, if not for the (thankfully) constantly beeping heart monitor that remains shoved up against the right side of the bed, for all intents and purposes it simply looks as if McGee is resting.

If only…

Gibbs shakes his head.

Then a sharp rap on the door sounds, causing the three (conscious) agents to reach for their SIGs. Gibbs holds his hand up, preventing them from drawing, and heads to the door and the person who is knocking just out of view of the tiny mirror in the wood. Possibly just a nurse. They know by now to announce their presence before entering. Gibbs pushes it open and–

Trent Kort flashes a smug smile. He's leaning against the doorframe and twirling a key ring around his left pointer finger. And before Kort can even get a word out, Gibbs reels a fist back and punches him straight across the jaw, sending the rouge CIA agent to the floor.

Kort coughs wetly and spits blood, sucking in a harsh breath as he looks up to find the barrel of Gibbs' SIG shoved his face.

He grins.

"Pleased to see you as well, Agent Gibbs."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Enter Trent Kort! And a little bit of a time skip, if you missed that. Figured it was the best way to keep things moving along in the way I want it to. Also, welcome to the double digit chapters! Not expecting to turn this into anything too long, but anything could happen. Thanks again to all my readers, reviewers, and followers! Comments, concerns, or criticisms please leave in a PM or signed-in review (so I can reply).


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